Mistakes Were Made
by film princess
Summary: Sam and Dean stumble across a delusional Victorian spirit who desperately wants her two boys back. As far as she's concerned, the Winchester boys would make acceptable substitutes. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17.
1. Safety First

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

"Sam, come on. You need the practice, dude."

"No, Dean, I don't cause I'm not gonna be a hunter."

"Oh, right… I almost forgot cause you haven't mentioned that since FIVE FREAKIN' MINUTES AGO!"

Sam kept the gun pointed at the ground as he had been taught. _NEVER point the gun at anyone or anything unless you intend to kill it._ "As soon as I'm old enough, I'm getting away from this life! I'm actually going to spend more than one month at a particular school and I'm going to get a good education so I can…"

"Live a normal, apple pie life?" Dean leaned against the back fence, exhausted by the repetitive conversations with his little brother. "Sammy, when are you going to get it through your head?! We don't get that option, okay? I don't get why you would want to crack open a book rather than save a life."

"It's not like that, man. Dad only became a hunter out of revenge. This is _his_ fight, not ours. We don't have to go down the same road just cause he…"

"Sam, stop. You know why we do what we do. Just shoot the god damned target already."

Sam huffed in annoyance, then took a deep breath and raised the double-barreled sawed-off shotgun to aim at the soda can set up a few yards away. He kept one hand on the trigger and the other he used to balance the weight. He was careful to keep both eyes open, just as his dad and brother had taught him. He could hear their voices echoing in his head… _Don't pull the trigger, just squeeze it…_ He began squeezing as he exhaled.

_CLICK!_

Dean dropped his head into his hands. "The safety is still on, genius. Boy do we have a lot of work to do…"

Sam spun around, pissed and embarrassed that he had forgotten to check the safety when his brother handed him the gun. "You think you're so perfect? Let's see _you_ hit the damn thing!"

Dean strode over to his brother who flinched slightly as he approached. He took the gun from Sam's hands, flicked off the safety, and using only one hand, shot the can dead center without the slightest hesitation. "Any questions?"

"Nah, just a statement. You're a jerk."

"Bitch." Dean held the gun out for Sam to take back.

Sam glanced down at the gun, but didn't take it. "I've got homework to do, Dean."

"Jeez, man, trying to teach you somethin' is like pullin' teeth these days. Fine, go do your homework, but we're getting in some target practice early tomorrow. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Get your ass inside and clean up first. I'll get supper started."

Sam began making his way towards the back door. He paused in the doorway and turned back. "When's dad comin' home?"

"Not till tomorrow night." Dean emptied the second round into the palm of his hand, then snapped the barrel back into place.

"So you'll be making breakfast too?"

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Why? You got a problem with that?"

"God no. Dad can't cook pancakes to save his life!"

"Well he never planned on becoming a chef, dude."

"Maybe I will. I think I'd have more fun in law though."

"Law? Ha! Don't make me laugh! With all the laws we break on a daily basis… Is it your dream in life to become the black sheep of the family?"

"Whatever it takes."

With that, Sam strode into the house leaving an exasperated Dean to fetch the can, bullet, and spent shell. He had been taught at a very young age to never leave any evidence behind. As far as anyone else was concerned, the Winchesters had never been there.

The boys followed their normal nightly routine; Sam did his homework while Dean put supper together, then they ate in front of the TV watching _Porky's II: The Next Day_.

"Really, Dean? Do we seriously have to watch this again?"

"It's a classic, Sammy."

"You know this came out the year I was born?"

"Huh. Well I guess that makes you a classic too."

"Ha ha. You're hilarious."

"Comes with the package, kiddo."

Once they finished, Sam flipped the channel to a documentary on H.H. Holmes while Dean began washing the dishes. It was rare they ever had dishes to clean. Normally they survived off of take-out or ate on plastic plates, but their father was attempting to give them some semblance of normality. They had been staying at this particular motel for three weeks now. The surrounding towns seemed to attract a lot of supernatural trouble makers which kept John plenty busy and allowed for the boys to attend the same school for a while. With any luck, they might actually finish out the rest of the year here. They only had two weeks to go until summer break.

Though Dean couldn't see Sam from in front of the kitchen sink, he could still hear him in the other room.

"This Holmes guy was totally twisted…"

Dean smirked as he dried off a plate. It was an unspoken agreement that the brothers had started years ago. When they were left alone in some ratty motel room and they were out of each other's sight for longer than a few minutes, they would keep up a running commentary so they would know the other was alright. It never felt forced. It was just an automatic sense of safety and reassurance.

"Careful, Sammy, he might hear you. You never know with _our_ luck."

"Yeah, right. He's ancient, Dean. I'm sure another hunter must have taken care of him by now if he became a violent spirit."

It didn't take long for Sam to get so involved with the show that instead of talking through it, he resorted to gasps of horror and groans of disgust. Not wanting to disturb his brother's visual education, Dean started whistling "Ramble On" by Led Zeppelin. He was so caught up in what he was doing, he didn't realize Sam's show had ended, or that he was standing in the doorway a few feet to his right.

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean jumped and almost dropped the dish he was drying. "Shit, Sammy! Don't _do _that!"

"Wow, sorry. I thought it was impossible for someone to sneak up on you." Dean didn't miss the underlying sarcasm and taunting.

"Oh it's possible, it's just usually the last thing they do. What happened? Run out of interesting documentaries? Talk about an oxymoron…"

"I'm sick of watching TV. Can we go out for ice cream? There's a stand about two blocks down the street."

Dean sighed, placing the last pile of dishes into the cupboard. "Sam, you know the cash dad leaves us is for necessities only." He rolled his eyes when Sam's hopeful face fell. "Lucky for you, I kept an extra twenty from the dude I hustled two days ago. Get your coat."

Dean chuckled as his little brother lit up with renewed excitement and dashed into the bedroom to find his jacket. "And don't forget your gun!" he called after him.

"We're only going a few blocks, Dean! How much trouble can we possibly get into?"

"I don't care. Safety first, dude. Have you not heard _anything_ dad and I have said to you?"

"Alright, alright! I got it. Can we go now?"

Dean tucked his own favorite gun into the waistband of his jeans and used his jacket to conceal it. "Lead the way, Short Stack."

"You know, I'm gonna be taller than you someday and you're gonna regret all those stupid nicknames."

"First of all, you're dreamin', and secondly, what makes you think I won't call you names if you're taller than me?"

"You're impossible to live with."

"I try. Get your ass in gear. We're burning daylight."

"The sun is going to set in like ten minutes, man."

"I can see that, Boy Genius. Don't leave my side, got it?"

Now it was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm not a baby anymore, Dean."

"Then quit actin' like one."

It didn't take them long to reach the ice cream stand set up at the entrance to the local park, and to Dean's relief, the trip was uneventful. He told Sam to take a seat on the bench just inside the park grounds and he got in the short line to order them two Klondike bars. Sam made sure that every minute or so he would make a noise, whether it be a cough or abnormally loud sigh that anyone passing would assume was a sigh of annoyance when in fact it was just to let his brother know he was still right where Dean had left him.

Five minutes later, there was only one other customer in front of Dean. He was suddenly hit with an overwhelming sense that something wasn't right. It was too quiet. Too much time had gone by since the last sound Sam had made. He casually turned his head but the view of the bench was obstructed by the trees surrounding the park. He didn't want to lose his spot in line for a gut feeling, but he knew he was rarely wrong about these things.

Clenching his teeth in frustration, he stepped out of line and made his way towards the bench. Once he cleared the trees the frustration quickly turned to gut-wrenching fear. The bench was empty.

TBC

Please review! There is plenty of angst and hurt/comfort to come if you think this story is worth continuing!


	2. Branded by Religion

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

_Shit, shit, shit… Where the hell are you, Sam? _The thought of losing his spot in line long forgotten, Dean scanned the area with a trained eye looking for any indication as to his brother's whereabouts. He spotted half a footprint near the bench where the shade from the trees kept the rain from earlier in the day from drying completely, leaving the area muddy. The wearer of the sneaker was headed deeper into the park along the tree line. _Sammy if you've wandered off for the hell of it I'm gonna kill you._

He began walking in the same direction and every few feet or so, he was rewarded by another partial footprint here and a few bent blades of grass there. Dean drew his gun but kept it concealed with his body just as he was trained to do.

"Sam?" he called out in a harsh whisper. "Sammy, answer me!"

When no reply came, he fell silent, determined to get the upper hand in case a supernatural entity was involved. He didn't want to give his position away if he didn't have to. As he rounded a bend into a smaller section of the park, he finally got some answers and what he saw made his blood boil.

Sam was standing in the middle of the clearing, head tilted slightly as though he were listening intently. He seemed unharmed and it didn't look like he was there under any duress.

"Sam! What the hell did I tell you about staying by my side?! What are you doing out here?! Are you alright?" Dean strode over to his brother, taking a good look around before tucking his gun away again. He gave Sam a quick once over to make sure he wasn't bleeding or harmed in any way.

"I'm fine, Dean. I thought I heard someone crying… Wait! There it is again."

"Ever think you might be intruding on their privacy? Come on. We're going home."

"She sounds really upset, Dean. What if she needs our help?"

"Dude, if she needed _our _kind of help, she'd be screaming her head off."

"Please? Can't we just make sure she's okay?"

"You got a thing for damsels in distress or somethin'?" There were the damn puppy dog eyes Dean can never say no to. "Fine. Let's see if she's alright, but then we're outta here. Understand?"

Sam nodded, then took a few steps towards where he last heard the voice. Dean reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling his little brother behind him and taking the lead. Sam stumbled slightly at the sudden change of direction and glared at his overly protective brother but didn't say anything.

They followed the voice far enough off the beaten path to make Dean's hair stand on end. He didn't like this one bit. He was just about to change his mind and get them the hell out of there when he caught a glimpse of a woman kneeling in the dirt, sobbing so heartbrokenly that it took Dean's breath away.

The boys stood there and watched her for a moment, trying to decide what to do now that they had found her. Dean took the initiative.

"Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?"

She glanced over at them with a wild and lost look in her eyes. Her hair was a disheveled mess and her makeup was running down her face with the tears.

"I've lost them. I've lost them both."

"Sorry? Lost who?"

"My children. My boys are gone."

Dean's heart clenched for the woman, but something still felt off about her. "Are they… I mean, did they pass away, or are they lost in the park somewhere?"

A deranged look suddenly crossed her face and she screamed, "I JUST WANT MY BOYS BACK! GIVE ME MY BOYS BACK!"

"I'm sorry, lady, we don't know anything about…"

And then she flickered. It was barely noticeable and the average person would have put it off to a trick of the light, but Dean knew better than that. "Sammy, run."

Sam, who was still mostly concealed by his brother's back, did not see what Dean had. He looked up questioningly and was surprised to see how pale Dean had gotten. "Huh?"

"RUN!"

Sam didn't ask again. He turned and bolted back the way they had come, Dean hot on his heals.

"MY BOYS! ZACHARY! PETER! COME BACK!" she screamed after them. Dean glanced over his shoulder and his insides froze when he realized she had vanished. Next thing he knew, he ran headlong into his brother and they crumbled to the ground. Sam had stopped short and with good reason. The spirit had reappeared directly in front of them. "My boys have come home to me," she sobbed with a sad smile on her face.

"Dean?" Sam practically whimpered in fear.

Dean stayed on top of Sam, used his own body to shield his brother's. "Look lady, I'm sorry for your loss and all, but we are NOT your kids okay?"

"What have I told you about lying, Zachary?"

"I'm not Za…!"

Next thing Dean knew, he was airborne and headed straight for a tree. Without thinking, he threw his arm out to brace himself for the impact then pulled it back at the last second when he realized he would surely snap his arm like a twig with it extended. The result was a sickening suction noise as his right arm was forced out of the socket. He yelped as his entire arm, from shoulder all the way down to his fingertips, felt as though it were on fire. It certainly didn't help when he crumpled to the ground and landed on it.

When his shoulder was forced out of the way, his back and ribs took the rest of the impact from the tree. He was pretty sure he had a gun-shaped bruise at his waistline and wouldn't be surprised if he cracked a rib or two.

With his teeth clenched against the pain, it took him a while to realize he wasn't breathing due to the fact that the impact knocked the air out of him as well. He blinked away the black spots that were clouding his vision and fought desperately to make his lungs respond. At best, he managed a few feeble and extremely painful gasps. Damn, this spirit was strong when she was angry!

"Dean!" Sam was frozen in shock, still flat on his stomach, craning his neck as he watched his brother sail through the air and inwardly cringed when Dean's body went one way and his shoulder went another. He turned angrily back to the spirit in front of him, his emotions taking over when he heard his brother cry out in pain. "Don't hurt my brother! You stay away from him!"

"Zachary was being a bad boy, Peter. I had to teach him a lesson."

The spirit made her way towards the youngest Winchester, arm raised as though reaching for him. Dean drew in the biggest lungful of air he could managed and shouted an order to his brother. "Shoot her, Sammy!"

He knew the silver bullets in Sam's gun would be useless against a spirit, but he was hoping that the fact they were soaked in holy water and lined with a salt solution might be enough to make a difference.

Sam pulled his gun, rolled onto his back, raised it with shaking arms and tried to steady his aim. The spirit was so close that he only had enough time to get in one good shot. When he was sure he had it lined up right, he took a quick breath, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.

_CLICK!_

"Oh shit…"

Dean watched in horror as the spirit effortlessly disarmed his little brother and threw him several feet across the park where he landed in a heap. A loud snap and sharp cry pierced through the otherwise silent night.

"SAM!!!"

Unlike Dean, Sam hadn't thought to protect his limbs from the impact, which resulted in his left forearm snapping in two. The boy cradled his arm against his chest and tried to crab walk backwards towards Dean with only three working limbs.

"Children should not play with guns! You will not disrespect your elders, child!" The spirit advanced and backhanded Sam across the face and he fell back to the ground, stunned at the fact that the ghost actually made a physical connection. "The devil has corrupted you, Peter, but I will save you."

Sam found he could no longer move, not because of the fear or shock, but because she was keeping him pinned in place. He did the only thing he could; he screamed for his big brother. "DEAN! HELP!"

Dean blinked the pained tears from his eyes as he forced his lungs to cooperate. "Sammy…" he tried to shout again, but it barely came out as a whisper. His oxygen-starved muscles were starting to burn and he felt as exhausted as he would after a ten mile hard run. "Please, no…" he tried to beg the spirit, but she either couldn't hear him or didn't care.

Sam struggled against her invisible grip but was incapable of breaking her hold on him. "We're not your children! Just let us go!"

"Your brother's evil ways have diseased your mind as well." She paused, seemingly in deep thought, before coming to a decision. "I must purge your mind."

The woman crouched down next to Sam and he felt her ice-cold finger draw a cross on his forehead. Then she held her hands a few inches away from the sides of his head and agony erupted in his skull. His back arched off the ground as though he was being electrocuted and he screamed bloody murder.

Dean forced himself onto his right side, ignoring the lightning bolts of pain running up and down his arm, and used his left hand to pull the gun from his waistband. He quickly lined up his shot and pulled the trigger, being extremely careful not to aim anywhere near his writhing brother.

It worked, to an extent. She disappeared with a shriek and Sam fell limply back to the ground with a soft thud. Dean let out a sigh of relief and attempted to roll back off his wounded shoulder and make his way to his brother.

Next thing Dean knew, he was staring into her wild eyes and being yanked backwards into a sitting position against the tree. His already bruised back seared with pain as his spine connected once again with the rough bark. The gun went sailing out of his hand and across the empty park. It felt as though she had a vice grip on his throat. And he thought he couldn't breathe _before_!

She placed the flat of her frozen palm against his forehead. It was the equivalent of having his head dunked in a barrel of ice water.

"Demons, be gone from this child! I cast you back to damnation!"

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you," Dean panted out. "'Cept nowadays, we just say GO TO HELL!"

"The demons have already blackened your soul," she whispered sadly with finality in her tone. She threw Dean sideways where he thankfully sprawled on his _left_ side, chest heaving as he tried to draw in much needed air. "I will force these demons from your body, my son."

She pinned him flat on his back with a wave of her hand, just as she had done to Sam, then straddled his stomach. His back and ribs protested loudly and the coldness of her skin was starting to make Dean shiver violently.

"I will bleed them from your soul, Zachary. I will set you free."

"Wait…" he gasped out in protest.

She slowly tilted her head sideways, eyes locked on his heaving chest. His T-shirt suddenly tore down the middle to his diaphragm. He tried to lift his head to see what she was doing but only caught a small glimpse before she forced him back down.

"What the hell are you…?!" he began, but then his words turned into a blood-curdling scream as a thin, straight line was carved down the center of his chest. After about three inches, it stopped, but then it started anew with a two inch cut moving from left to right. All his muscles strained against her hold on him as he bit down on his tongue to deny her the pleasure of hearing him scream more.

"I will save your soul, child."

The piercing sensation suddenly stopped and she relaxed her hold enough for him to lift his head and see what she had done. He gasped in shock when he realized there was now a crucifix gouged into his skin directly above his heart. Needless to say, he was starting to get a little pissed off.

TBC

Thank you all for your support and reviews! They definitely inspired me to keep writing. The more the merrier! Did I make the spirit creepy enough? Anything you would like to see in upcoming chapters? I promise I'll be getting to the heart of this story within the next few chapters, so please bear with me!


	3. Failure

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

Dean gasped in shock when he realized there was now a crucifix gouged into his skin directly above his heart. Needless to say, he was starting to get a little pissed off.

"You bitch!"

Her dead eyes flared with fury and she placed her hand over the slices in his chest. It felt as though his insides were being squeezed by a boa constrictor. He was pretty sure if his ribs had survived the collision with the tree, they certainly were going to be broken now. In fact, if he wasn't desperately trying to block it out, he would have felt a few in his lower back shifting from the pressure and grinding against each other. He would have screamed had he been able to draw in air.

Then it clicked in his mind what she was attempting to do; she was trying to force the demons from his body. However, the only thing escaping from the slices in his chest was blood, and a pretty good amount of it too.

Oh this is sooo not good…

Just when Dean was ready to give in to the darkness and escape from the pain, a couple in their late twenties sprinted around the corner, hand-in-hand and giggling. They stopped the second their eyes took in the scene. At first they were embarrassed, believing that they had stumbled in on another couple that had beat them to the punch, but then they noticed the other boy lying still a few feet away.

"Hey! What's going on here?" the guy called out.

The spirit sent a furious glare his way before flickering and then disappearing altogether.

"What the…? Did you just see…? Where did she go?"

The second her weight and hold was gone, Dean curled up on his left side sucking in deep breaths of blessed oxygen. This time he _did _feel his ribs shifting beneath his bruised flesh. He was forced to swallow convulsively as his stomach threatened to reunite him with his dinner.

The couple hurried over to him. The girl had her cell phone in her hand, ready to call 911 if necessary.

"Hey, Buddy, you okay?" The male knelt down next to him, anxious to assist.

"S-Sammy…" Dean panted out.

"Sammy? Is that your name?" the girl questioned.

Dean just pointed a shaking hand at his brother's limp form.

"Stay with him. I'll check on the other one," the guy commanded and the girl nodded. He jogged over to the smaller boy and checked for a pulse. "He's still breathing!" he called back.

Dean mustered as much strength as he could and began pushing himself upright when he felt a firm hand on his hip.

"Don't move, hun. I'm going to call 911." She had the number dialed and the phone to her ear before she even finished the sentence. She used her other hand to gently force him back to the ground. She had almost grabbed his shoulder to keep him steady but then noticed it was horribly swollen and clearly dislocated so she settled her hand on the side of his face and neck instead. She moved her thumb gently over his cheekbone in comfort.

"'M okay… Gotta check… on S'mmy."

"Rick has him, don't worry. What's your name, hunny?"

"D-ean..." His breath hitched in pain as a particularly harsh throb emanated from his ribs.

"Hi, Dean. I'm Tricia. Just lie still, okay?"

"No, please… Gotta make sure he's alright…" He tried to sit up a second time and bit back a yelp as his injuries made themselves known again. She debated on forcing him back down once more but the desperate look in his eyes made her relent. She sighed, then lightly wrapped her arms around his upper torso to steady him as he pushed up from the ground.

Dean let out a pained groan, but even though his arms were shaking like crazy, he managed to reach a sitting position. With Tricia's help, he rose to his feet and stumbled his way over to his brother and Rick.

Once she deposited her fragile charge onto the ground, Tricia focused on her phone call telling the response team everything she could.

Dean, who had sank to his knees by Sam's side, reached out his left hand and brushed the younger boy's bangs off his forehead. "Sammy? Hey, little brother… Can you hear me?" He lifted Sam's eyelids when he got no response, then ran his fingers through his brother's long hair checking for blood or bumps that would explain his prolonged unconsciousness. When he found no evidence of head trauma, he tapped Sam's cheek. "C'mon, kiddo. Open your eyes. You're scarin' me."

Sam let out a small groan and his brow creased with pain, but he didn't wake. Dean skimmed his left hand gently over his little brother's body checking for damage. He took extra care with Sam's left arm; the painful snapping of the bones still replaying in his head. He held Sam's hand carefully between his knees and used his good hand to roll his brother's sleeve up to his elbow, grimacing at the obvious break and awkward angle of his forearm. With his own arm out of place, he did not have the strength to reset the break himself.

Dean painfully slid his jacket off and with a little help from Rick, he managed to make a sling out of it to protect Sam's arm. Rick levered Sam up and Dean nestled in behind his brother, wrapping his left arm around Sam's torso and holding him safely against his chest while Rick tied the sling at the top of Sam's right shoulder.

Once the sling was in place, Rick reached out for Sam to help lay him back down to get his weight off of the older boy's wounded body, but Dean sent him an icy glare that clearly stated _you touch him, I end you._ Rick raised his hands in surrender and backed off, giving the boys their space.

Dean had no idea how long they sat like that, but the next thing he_ did _know, there were two strangers dressed as paramedics bustling around them. _Huh… Must've dropped off a bit._

He was debating on returning to the dark where pain was non-existent. That is, until he felt his little brother being tugged from his one-armed grasp. He put all his strength into tightening his hold on Sam, flat out refusing to let him be taken from him.

"Son, you need to let him go, okay?"

"Back off," he growled.

"We're not going to hurt him, I promise. We're here to help."

"I failed him." It wasn't a question; it was a statement. Dean didn't know why he let it slip out past his defenses. Once he started, he couldn't stop. "I was supposed to protect him, but he still got hurt. It's all my fault." He never admitted things like that to total strangers, but the reality of it all was crashing down around him and he had never felt so lost. _Dad, please come home._

"I'm sure you did the best you could, kiddo. Now let us take it from here."

When Dean didn't relax his grip, the EMT quietly told his partner to get a mild sedative. Then he turned to the couple who were looking on with concern. "Are you the one who called 911, miss?"

Tricia nodded, biting her lip.

"Can you tell me what happened here?"

"Not really sure to be honest. Rick and I came around that corner over there and saw the little one unconscious on the ground and what looked like some crazed woman on top of Dean."

"Dean? Is that his name?"

"Yes. And I believe the younger one is Sammy."

"Where did the woman go?"

"She… disappeared."

Assuming Tricia meant the woman had run off, the paramedic continued. "Well, I'm sure she won't get too far without being seen. Our priority is these two boys. Can you tell me their injuries?"

"I didn't see what happened to Sammy, and I think Dean hurt his back or something…"

"It's Sam," Dean hissed, finally catching on to the conversation taking place right next to him. "Only I can call him Sammy."

"Dean, right?" When the paramedic received no reply, he sighed trying to keep his patience. "Dean, can you tell me where you're hurt?"

"I'll be fine."

"What about your brother? What happened to him?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Dean finally made eye contact, and though it was brief, it held a lot of defiance.

"Did he hit his head?"

"No. Why won't he wake up?"

"We won't know that unless you let us take a look at him."

Dean watched the other paramedic attempt to circle in behind him with a needle in his hand and the fight drained out of him. He relaxed his death grip but didn't remove his arm entirely. "Okay, but don't hurt him."

"You have my word." The man nodded to his partner who placed the syringe on the ground and moved in to help extract the younger boy from his brother. They placed Sam on a stretcher and the second paramedic began wheeling him towards the awaiting ambulance. Once Sam was no longer hiding Dean's chest from view, the first paramedic saw the blood and jagged slice down the middle of Dean's shirt. "Did the woman attack you with a knife?"

Dean shook his head no, bringing his hand up to hold the two halves of his shirt closed over the still bleeding cuts, but kept his eyes glued on the stretcher carrying his brother away. Realizing he wouldn't be getting Dean's full attention with the boys separated, the medic stood and held out a hand for Dean to take.

"Come on, son. Let's get you back with your brother."

Dean eyed the hand warily as though expecting some sort of trick, then took it with his left hand. The paramedic certainly didn't let the fact he did everything left-handed go unnoticed. Instead of interrogating the boy for answers, however, he decided to make a mental note of it for now and to check him over more thoroughly when he had more light with which to work.

Dean stood cautiously, feeling the world tilt beneath his feet as he was hit with vertigo. The paramedic saw him sway dangerously to the left and reached out to steady him. Unfortunately, it was Dean's right shoulder that was closest to grab onto. The boy gasped in pain before falling back down to his knees, pressing his forehead into the grass and biting back the pulsating agony.

"Easy, kid. Take deep breaths. Damn… you're a mess." The medic picked up the syringe that was laying just a few inches away and uncapped it with his teeth. Without any warning, he plunged the needle into Dean's lower back, just above his low-cut jeans. The boy yelped indignantly and tried to move away from the medic, but the man held him in place. "It's alright, just relax. It won't fully knock you out, just take the edge off a bit."

The pain slowly started to recede from his body, and with it went his strength. The last thing he felt was the medic starting to pull him back up before the blessed darkness took him.

"S'mmy…"

TBC

Sorry for the delay! It's been a busy weekend! Please let me know what you think so far!


	4. A Little Trust Goes A Long Way

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

Dean drifted in and out of consciousness on the ride to the hospital. He remembered the sirens blaring, asking for Sammy a bunch of times, feeling anxious having the medics working frantically around them, remembered feeling the IV being inserted into the crook of his right arm, and he felt the pain in his body flare randomly and whenever he attempted to move. His eyelids felt as though weights were attached and he was having difficulty keeping them open no matter how hard he tried.

"Stay still, Dean. You're safe now."

An oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and nose, making it easier on his busted rib cage to draw in air. Nevertheless, he didn't want to be babied. He just wanted to make sure his brother was okay. Dean reached up weakly and tried to pull the mask off to once again demand information about Sam, but a strong hand encircled his wrist and kept him from reaching his goal. He forced his eyes open again to find the same medic who had given him the sedative leaning over him. Dean tried to glare and pull his wrist free, but it was taking too much energy.

"Your brother is right here, kid. You just worry about yourself right now, okay? Leave the mask where it is. My name is Brian by the way. Just relax, Dean."

Dean struggled to keep his eyes open, but quickly lost the battle. When he opened them again, he was being wheeled down a bright hallway by a bunch of people in white he didn't recognize. Once again, he reached up to remove the mask and was thwarted. Not being in control of the situation was really starting to amp up Dean's adrenaline. He could feel his strength coming back.

He was wheeled into a small room and the curtain was closed around them. Dean felt trapped, and that feeling never sat well with him. His entire body tensed; his fight or flight instincts kicking in. There were hands all over him and he couldn't take it anymore.

Dean shoved the hands away, tore the IV out of his arm, knocked the oxygen mask off his face, and rolled off the stretcher, putting it between himself and the medical staff. He leaned heavily on the table to keep himself upright as his vision swam and his back throbbed from the roll.

"Woah! Easy, kid! Do you know where you are right now?" a man in a white lab coat asked from Dean's right. Dean ignored him, blinking heavily to clear his vision.

"Where's my brother?" he demanded.

"Your brother?"

"Yes, damn it! My brother, Sam! Where is he?!"

"I…"

"I want to talk to Brian." He wasn't sure why he made the request, but once he did he stood by it. Maybe it was to have a friendly face around, or maybe it was to curse him out for drugging him. Either way… the man might know where they took Sam.

"Brian?" The doctor sounded confused, so Dean elaborated starting to get frustrated.

"The medic that picked us up."

The doctor raised his hands to show he meant Dean no harm, clearly picking up on his increasing agitation. "Son, you're safe now, okay? You're at St. Cecilia's Hospital and…"

"Stay away from me!" Dean warned. Though his focus was centered on the doctor speaking to him, he could still see the nurses circling around the sides of the stretcher to get to him.

"Just give him some space, everyone," the doctor instructed and they halted their advances. "I'll see if Brian is still here, okay?"

Dean nodded slowly, not trusting any of the people around him.

"Don't leave this room, understood?" the doc tried to reason.

Dean's eyes darted around to all the concerned and anxious faces surrounding him, ready to tackle and restrain him if necessary. He surrendered to the request. "Fine."

Two of the bigger nurses were left behind to keep an eye on Dean while the others followed the doctor out to help with the search for the EMT.

Dean edged around the stretcher to a jar of cotton balls on a nearby tray, and while keeping his eyes glued to the other men in the room, he took one and held it against the bleeding hole where the IV used to be. He knew he couldn't risk losing much more blood tonight if he wanted to stay on his feet, let alone make a break for the exit. When one of the nurses took a step towards him to help out, Dean quickly retreated back behind the stretcher.

He had a handful of escape plans that he was ready to set into motion when Brian walked cautiously through the door.

"Hey, Dean. The doctor says you aren't being a very cooperative patient."

Though Dean was grateful for the familiar face, he had a bone to pick with the medic.

"You lied to me. You said it wouldn't knock me out!"

Brian looked at the two nurses still in the room and inclined his head towards the door, dismissing them, then turned his full attention on to Dean.

"The sedative _didn't _knock you out, kid. You _passed _out. And judging by the amount of blood on your shirt and that busted shoulder of yours, I think we have a pretty good idea _why_."

"I did NOT pass out," Dean stated indignantly. "You _tricked_ me. Where's Sam?"

"He's in good hands, I promise. You're no good to him bleeding all over the floor though. Now, this situation could go one of two ways…"

Brian's partner popped his head in the doorway. "Just restrain the kid, Bry, before he hurts himself or someone else."

Dean paled instantly at the thought of being tied down and helpless. Brian saw the change in the boy's bravado instantly.

"Not helping, Rafe," he mumbled over his shoulder. The other man shrugged, then headed back to the ambulance bay to await their next call. Brian turned back to the boy with an apologetic look on his face.

"Don't." Dean tried to sound threatening but to his horror, it came out as more of a plea.

"Don't fight me and I won't have to restrain you, fair enough?"

Dean bristled. "I can take care of myself."

"I can see that." Maybe there was a hint of sarcasm in that statement. This time, Dean did manage to glare.

"I want to see my brother."

Brian sighed. "I'm afraid they can't let you do that. You see, you're a health hazard to him right now. It's against hospital regulations. If you let me take a look at you and get you some clean scrubs, then I'm sure I can work out a deal for you."

"Are you tryin' to bribe me?" Dean quirked an eyebrow, completely thrown by the medic's attempt at bargaining. Well this was unexpected… He felt his anger starting to drain from him.

Brian smiled. "Is it working?"

Dean had to smirk at that. He was almost starting to like this guy. If he were honest with himself, his arm was killing him and although he felt he deserved the pain for letting Sam get hurt under his watch, he wasn't much of a protector with only one workable arm. With a deep exhale filled with resignation, he nodded.

"Okay, good. Why don't we start with you coming out from behind that stretcher?"

Dean cautiously made his way to the front of the stretcher, dropping the cotton ball onto the tray and keeping his left hand on the bed at all times to steady himself when needed. Now that his adrenaline was wearing off, the aches and pains were starting to return full force.

"Alright, how about we get that arm taken care of?" Brian suggested, motioning to Dean's dislocated shoulder. He patted the stretcher. "Hop on up."

Dean sat on the very edge of the stretcher, ready to bolt if necessary. Brian checked to make sure the bleeding had stopping where the IV had been, then bent Dean's right arm at the elbow, keeping one hand around his wrist and the other on his lower bicep. "You need to relax, kiddo."

"Easy for _you_ to say." Dean took a few steadying breaths and forced himself to not tense up as Brian began rotating his arm outward. He could feel the muscle spasms as they tried to repair themselves. Dean bit down on his lower lip, waiting for the moment when his shoulder would be forced back into place. To his surprise, it didn't come. Brian paused whenever the spasms started, then continued the slow rotation. This wasn't anything like how his father set dislocations. "Just get it over with, will you?" he hissed between clenched teeth.

"Relax, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes, then gasped as his shoulder slid back into place. "Ah! Damn…"

"That better?"

"Loads."

"Hang on." Brian retrieved a cold pack from one of the cabinets in the room, cracked it to mix the chemicals, then held it to Dean's shoulder. "Here, hold this in place."

Dean put his left hand up to hold the ice against his throbbing shoulder. At least he could move it now though. "Thanks."

"I'll get a sling for your shoulder. You should wear it for at least twenty-four hours to give the muscles some time to recover."

Dean nodded, then locked hopeful eyes with Brian. "Can I see Sammy now?"

"Just a sec. I need to take a look at your chest, Dean. You're covered in blood."

"NO!" He used his left forearm to block his chest and torn shirt from the medic. How could he possibly explain having a cross cut into his skin? He was attacked by a religious psychopath while taking a stroll through the park late at night? Yeaahh…. No. "'M okay," he tried to convince the man once again.

"Either I take a look, or the doctors here will. You can't hide it forever, son. Just let me help you."

"I don't need your help!" he yelled, trying to slide off the stretcher again to put more space between himself and Brian. The man grabbed Dean's good shoulder and cupped the side of his neck, holding him steady and keeping him on the stretcher.

"Dean, what happened? Talk to me, kid. What did the woman do to you?"

"She just knocked me over, okay?" Dean tried to break free of Brian's grip but was unsuccessful.

"And that's how you dislocated your shoulder? That's why you're all bloody? Not buying it, dude."

"I landed on my shoulder, and she landed on me, so yeah. That's how it got dislocated."

"Okay, say I believe that. What happened to your chest?"

"Cut it on a rock when I hit the ground."

"I see… Then why are you hiding it?"

Dean dropped his eyes to the ground, refusing to answer. Brian decided to prod a little more.

"You know it'll get infected if you don't get it treated?"

Dean's eyes snapped back up, alight with an idea.

"Tell you what, you leave me with the supplies needed and I'll take care of it, okay?"

Brian looked skeptical. "You know what you're doing?"

"Dude, anyone over the age of five knows how to disinfect a cut and put a Band-Aid on it. I'm not an idiot."

Not wanting to push the boy further into his shell, he conceded. "If that's the way you want it. At least it'll get taken care of, _right_?" He gave the boy a pointed look.

"Right."

"Supplies are in that cabinet. Make sure you clean the cut out good. I'll go grab you some scrubs to change into. Then we'll go check on your brother."

"Thank you." It was the most sincere he had been all day. Brian nodded.

"No sweat. I'll be right back. Don't go wandering on your own."

Brian patted Dean gently on his good shoulder, gave him one last once-over, then headed out the door, closing it behind him. Dean waited a beat to see if it was a trick, then slid off the stretcher and made his way to the cabinet. He pulled out disinfectant, gauze, and a first aid wrap for his ribs.

Deciding his shirt was already a lost cause, he pulled out a pair of scissors and cut it the rest of the way down the middle, then slid it off his back slowly with a grimace. He looked down at his chest and his breath caught in his throat. The cuts were refusing to clot, allowing his blood to continue to drip steadily down his chest. With the amount that was already on his shirt, the doctors hadn't realized he was still bleeding. Otherwise, he wouldn't have had any say in the matter. They would have sedated or strapped him down if he didn't cooperate. He shivered at the thought.

"I'm so gonna gank that chick when this is over…"

TBC

Please review! I have a feeling John is going to be coming into the picture soon… and he's going to be pissed!


	5. Brotherly Bonding

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

Dean knew he probably needed stitches to stop the bleeding, but he just didn't have the time or strength to deal with them. He poured the disinfectant onto a gauze pad, then gritting his teeth, pressed it hard against the slices on his chest.

It burned, but he'd had worse. He held it in place for a minute, then checked to see if the bleeding had slowed at all. The skin around it was red and tender. He hoped it wouldn't get infected. Dean placed a dry gauze pad over the cuts and taped it in place.

Though it took him a while, he managed to wrap the elastic bandage around his busted ribs. It wasn't as tight as he would have liked, but it was the best he could do for now. There was a knock on his door. Dean quickly grabbed his ragged shirt and held it over his chest.

"Yeah?"

"It's Brian, Dean. I have the scrubs. Here, I'll pass them through the curtain."

Without sticking his head in, Brian reached around the curtain and held the scrubs out for the boy to take. Dean cautiously walked over and took them.

"Thanks."

"I'll wait outside your room. When you're ready, we'll go find your brother." Brian backed out of the room, giving Dean privacy to get changed.

Dean threw his ruined shirt into the trash and pulled the clean top carefully over his head. The nurses had already untied his sneakers when he had been on the stretcher, but didn't get the chance to remove them before he started fighting back. He kicked them off, removed his grubby jeans, pulled the new pants on, then slid back into his shoes and laced them up.

Brian had added a sling to the bottom of the pile, but Dean didn't bother putting it on. There had been enough delaying. He wanted to see his brother. _NOW_. He brushed past the curtain, then strode to the door and pulled it open, holding the sling under his other arm. As promised, Brian was waiting for him.

"You okay, kid? Need help getting the…"

"I'm fine. Can we…"

"Sam is this way. Follow me."

Dean followed Brian silently down a few corridors until he stopped in front of a closed door. Dean reached for the handle, but Brian gently latched onto his wrist.

"Hang on, Dean. I've talked to his doctor and I want to prepare you first for what you're going to see." He rushed on, preventing Dean from arguing. "Sam's left forearm is in a cast. He fractured his radius pretty bad, but they have reset it and he shouldn't have any permanent damage."

"So what's the bad news?" Dean jumped in when Brian paused.

"The bad news is he's still unconscious. The doctors aren't really sure what's causing it. He doesn't seem to have hit his head or anything and he doesn't have a concussion. On the plus side, he's breathing on his own, so no ventilator was needed. They're going to be running some tests. I'm sure they'll figure something out soon."

"What kind of tests?" The fierce protectiveness was back in his voice.

"Probably an MRI, some blood tests… Maybe Sam will find his way back all on his own. We just need to give him some time. Go talk to him, Dean. Maybe hearing your voice will help coax him back." Brian released Dean's wrist and took a step back.

"Aren't you going to come in?" Dean quirked an eyebrow.

"I'll give you guys some time. If you need me, I'll be right outside the door, okay?"

Dean nodded, swallowed hard, and opened the door. His heart clenched when his eyes fell on his baby brother. He made his way over to the side of Sam's bed, dropping the sling onto the food tray.

Sam looked like he was just sleeping. He looked like the little boy Dean had raised; so full of innocence and trust. Dean had ruined that trust. He had failed his family tonight.

Dean pulled a chair over to the side of his brother's bed, then gently brushed Sam's bangs away from his eyes. "You need a hair cut, little brother." When Sam didn't show any sign of response, Dean's eyes began to mist over. He looked up towards the ceiling, blinking hard to clear his vision, then sniffed loudly. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. I should have protected you better. This is all my fault, kiddo. I should be laying there, not you. If I had listened to dad and stayed inside the motel till he got back… I need you to wake up, Sammy. I need you to be okay."

Sam didn't so much as twitch. Dean placed one hand on his brother's chest, using the steady beat beneath it for comfort. The other hand he used to forcefully wipe at the tears streaming down his face.

"I'm gonna fix this, little man, if it's the last thing I do." Dean stood and walked shakily over to the other side of the room and pulled his cell from his jacket pocket which the nurses had folded and placed on one of the other chairs in the room. He looked down at the jacket in his hand, then back up at Sam.

Dean carefully laid his jacket over his brother's torso, hoping the familiarity of it might help guide Sam back to him. "I'll be right back, bro. Don't go anywhere without me, okay?" He leaned down and kissed his brother on the forehead, then strode out of the room. He had to make a phone call.

"Dean?"

Dean had forgotten about Brian. He paused, then turned to face the older man.

"Yeah?"

"Where you going?"

"Gotta call my dad and tell him where we are. He's supposed to be getting home later today."

"Want me to talk to him? Explain what's going on a bit?"

"Nah, I've got it covered, thanks. Would you… I mean, do you think you could sit with Sammy until I get back? I don't want him alone for too long in case he wakes up."

"You got it. I'll keep an eye on him. You do what you have to do."

"Thanks for everything, Brian. I know you didn't have to humor me back there."

"No thanks needed. I'm a big brother too. I totally understand." A funny look crossed Brian's face, then he shook himself mentally. "Go make your call. I'll be here when you get back."

Dean headed out the nearest exit, knowing the "no cell phones in the hospital" policy very well after all the visits he and his family had endured over the years. Taking a deep, calming breath, he pressed down the number to speed dial his father.

It went to voicemail. He supposed he should have seen that coming.

"Hey, dad. It's Dean. I'm sorry, but I screwed up. Things went a little sideways last night, and Sammy is in the hospital with a broken arm. Dad, he won't wake up. I need you to come home early if you can. We're at St. Cecilia's Hospital. Please, hurry."

Dean snapped his phone shut, took a minute to collect himself, then headed back to Sam's room.

Brian, who had been sitting in the chair next to Sam's bed, stood as Dean entered.

"Did you reach him?"

"Yeah, he'll be here as soon as he can. He's away on a business trip."

"What's he do?"

"Uh… He's a door-to-door salesman. Sells all kinds of stuff."

"That's cool…" Something in the man's tone made Dean think he didn't believe him so he quickly changed the topic before Brian could ask any more questions.

"So what's your little brother like? Is he a geek like mine?"

Brian laughed sadly. "Yeah, he used to be."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry, man."

"It's okay. It was a long time ago." Brian smiled kindly at him.

"Do you mind me askin' what happened?"

"I made a mistake and he paid for it. I was a stupid teenager and went to pick up my brother from soccer practice. He was five years younger than me. I had been drinking, but like most drunks, I thought I was still okay to drive. I wasn't paying attention and we went off the road. I didn't know how to save him."

"Is that why you became a paramedic?"

"He was certainly one of the biggest reasons, yeah. I figured maybe if I was able to save a few other lives, I could forgive myself for what I had done. I dunno… try to make up for it I guess. I haven't touched alcohol since."

"That's pretty admirable. A lot of people turn to alcohol after somethin' like that happens. They don't see that it doesn't fix anything. It just numbs the pain for a little while."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience." Brian frowned in concern.

"My mom died when I was four. My dad took it pretty hard. He used to turn to the bottle when the pain got to be too much. Now he only does it if he has a really bad day at work or if it's the anniversary of her death."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It's not easy losing someone close to you."

A tear slipped from Dean's well-built mask. "Do you think I'm gonna lose _my _brother?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it. There are some great doctors in this hospital, Dean. They'll take good care of him and he'll be back to driving you nuts soon enough."

Dean let out a half sob, half laugh. Brian put his hand on the back of Dean's neck for comfort, squeezing it gently. "Hang in there, kid. It'll all be okay. You'll see. You should eat something. You look dead on your feet."

"Not really hungry."

"Even so… When was the last time you ate someth…"

Dean jumped as his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He quickly made his way outside and answered it, thankful for the interruption.

"Dad?"

"Dean? What the hell is going on over there? Are you boys okay?"

"I'm fine. Sam's in the hospital."

"How bad?"

"We got attacked by this psychotic spirit in the park a few hours ago. She did something to him and now he won't wake up. I need you to come back, dad. I'm so sorry for interrupting your hunt."

"I'm just about finished here anyways. You said St. Cecilia's Hospital, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm on my way. You and I need to have a little chat, Dean."

Dean swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

TBC

Thanks for all the reviews! They've been a great help so far! Please keep them coming. I promise Dean and John will have their face-off in the next chapter! Please stay tuned! 


	6. Lessons to be Learned

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

Happy late Memorial Day everyone! Here's what you've all been waiting for... I hope I did it justice!!

Brian's concern grew exponentially when Dean walked back in, shaking noticeably. "You okay, Dean? What did he say? I'm guessing that was your dad?"

Dean mentally shook himself when he heard Brian's voice and tried to hide the tremors coursing through his body. "Yeah, that was him. He's on his way."

"Is he mad?" Brian was trying to figure out what had made the boy's demeanor change so drastically.

"He has every right to be."

"Listen, if you want me to talk to him when he gets here…"

"You've done more than enough, man. I've got it from here. You should probably get back to your partner. He seems to have a fetish for bondage."

Brian laughed. "Rafe's a good guy. You're right though, he's a bit of a wing nut. Here…" He passed Dean a card. "This has my cell number on it. Call if you need anything, alright?"

"You got it. Thanks again, for everything."

"Keep me posted on the little one, okay? I'm sure he'll be just fine in no time. Oh, and don't forget to put that sling on. Twenty-four hours at least or your shoulder won't heal properly." He gently nudged Dean's knee, then stood and headed for the ambulance bay.

Dean watched him go until Brian was out of sight, then rose wearily to his feet to continue his silent vigil over his brother until their father arrived. He didn't have to wait very long.

Dean jumped up from his seat as his father strode into the room with a terrifying presence. He watched quietly as John, ignoring the humming and beeping machines around his youngest, checked Sam's stats himself. When he was satisfied that his son was still alive and breathing, he acknowledged his eldest.

"Start talkin', Dean." He tried hard to keep the growl out of his voice but failed miserably.

Dean was shaking again. "I-I'm sorry, dad…"

John wheeled around to confront his eldest. "I don't want to hear apologies! I want to hear what happened!"

Dean, not wanting his brother to bear any of the guilt, spun the story so it all landed on his shoulders. "I was getting bored and wanted to give Sam a treat, so I took him to the ice cream stand a few blocks from our motel. I made sure we were both armed just in case. I turned my back for a few minutes while I was waiting in line, and I… I lost him."

John was getting closer and closer to the boiling point. Dean could see this, but had to get the whole story out there before the guilt destroyed him.

"I went lookin' for him and found him in the park. He could hear someone crying, so I decided we should check it out in case she needed help. It was a spirit, dad. She told us she had lost her two boys and seemed to think we'd make nice replacements. I couldn't protect him. She put her hands on his head and did somethin' to him. Now he won't wake up. Please, dad… We have to help Sammy."

John was furious. "Did you learn nothing from the Striga incident?! How could you jeopardized his life like that again?! I thought I trained you better than that. I thought you were smart enough to not disobey a _direct order_!"

Dean dropped his eyes to the ground, not even trying to defend himself. As far as he was concerned, he deserved every harsh word that felt like a knife in his heart.

John knew he was being incredibly harsh, and he knew Dean would give his own life to protect his little brother, but the Winchester family could not afford slip ups like this. One wrong move could cost any one of them their lives. As much as it hurt him, he knew he had to get that point across to his eldest if he was going to keep his boys safe. There were a lot worse things out there than spirits that went bump in the night. But now that he said what he needed to say, he couldn't take the broken look in Dean's eyes any longer. He needed a drink in the worst way.

"I have to go. Find your own way back to the room, but don't even _think_ about going near that park again. Call me if anything changes with your brother." With that, he strode out of the room.

Dean stood there, stunned. The room was completely silent but for the beeping and humming of machines.

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John took off for the nearest bar he could find. He didn't want to leave his boys right now, but they had to learn. He had to show them what it will be like when he is gone and can't protect them anymore. He had to drill it into Dean's head that the smallest mistake can come with huge consequences. He promised his wife many years ago that he would keep their boys safe, and this was the best way he knew how. John had to raise his sons like soldiers and prepare them for war against the supernatural. There just wasn't time to be the loving and affectionate father they deserved. It hurt like hell, but it was for their own good.

John knew what he had to do to get his point across, so he ordered drink after drink to prepare himself. This wouldn't be easy on him or his son. He kept hearing the running commentary in his head and tried to literally drown it out.

_I have to make sure Dean doesn't make that mistake again. I have to keep my boys safe. I'll make sure he never slips up again. God, Dean… What the hell were you thinkin'? I raised you better than that. I almost lost my little boy tonight…_

John dropped a bunch of bills onto the counter to pay for his drinks, then stumbled out to his truck. He would meet his eldest back at the motel and get his punishment over with before he lost his drive to do so. Though his mind was clouded, he had one goal running through his head; make sure Dean never forgets again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When the night nurse went around to all the rooms telling patients' families that visiting hours were over, she found Dean still standing in the same spot, keeping watch over his still unconscious brother.

"Hey, sweetie. Time to go. You can come back and see him in the morning. We will contact you if there is any change."

Dean jumped as her voice shook him out of his frozen trance. "Huh? Oh, right. Just let me say goodnight to him, okay?"

She smiled warmly, then nodded. "I'll check back once I've finished my first rounds."

Once she was gone, Dean forced his stiff legs to cooperate and bring him back to Sam's bedside. "I've gotta go for now, little brother, but I'll be back as soon as I can, okay? You hang in there, and I swear to god if you don't wake up soon, I'm gonna make you do the laundry for the next two months. Course, that's only after I revive your scrawny ass cause I'm gonna kill you first."

Dean's throat tightened when he didn't get any response out of his brother. He patted Sam's good arm, then pulled the sheets higher up on his chest before rearranging the jacket and tucking it around Sam's fragile-looking body.

"Goodnight, kiddo. See you in the morning."

He threw a contemplative glance over at the sling, then decided he didn't want to alarm his father with his own injuries so he left it where it was and headed out into the hall. The night nurse passed by him again and wished him a good night. Dean returned the sentiments, then made his way out into the dark night. He could hotwire a car, but he thought the walk and fresh air might do him some good so he set off for the long hike back to the motel, preparing himself for what he knew would be awaiting him. His stomach churned at the thought. Then again, it could just be the fact he hadn't eaten since the night before.

When he finally reached the motel, his legs were ready to give out on him. The lack of food and sleep combined with the pain from his injuries were taking their tolls on him. All the lights were off, but he knew his father was already here. He saw the Impala parked crookedly out front and forced himself to straighten up and not look as pathetic as he felt before reaching out to open the door quietly. Maybe his father was already in bed…

He barely made it two steps into the room when the bright overhead lights snapped on. His eyes watered and he blinked rapidly, trying to get them to adjust.

"Wha' the hell took you so long?" his father slurred, standing menacingly by the light switch. "Been waitin' hours…"

Dean knew this meant his father would have continued drinking the whole time, trying to fortify himself for what he was about to do to his son. The more wasted his father got, the harder it was for him to stop. Dean swallowed hard, but kept his chin up fully prepared to accept the consequences of his actions.

"Sorry, dad. I didn't want to leave him until visiting hours were…"

"You've been sayin' sorry a lot today, boy."

"Yes, sir." Dean locked eyes with his father. No more excuses. No more apologies. He was ready to pay for his mistakes.

"_Sorry _won' fix wha' you've done. Gonna make sure you never forget again." John fumbled for a minute with his belt buckle, then pulled the belt from his jeans. "Up agains' the wall."

Dean took a steadying breath, then did as he was told. He moved to within two feet from the closest wall and braced his left hand against it.

"Both arms up," John growled.

Dean swallowed down his rising nausea and forced his right shoulder to rotate, lifting his arm and placing it about a foot away from his left hand. He bit down on his tongue to fight against the agony that blossomed through his shoulder.

"Ne'er let Sammy out of your sight again." John swung the belt with as much force as he could muster, bringing it down across Dean's already bruised back and broken ribs.

Dean's body instinctively coiled away from the blow and a pained yelp broke past his defenses. He gritted his teeth and tried to compose himself, already anticipating the second blow.

"_Never _disobey a direc' order!"

The belt came down again with enough force to knock Dean almost face first into the wall. He used his left arm to counter the blow and his right arm fell limply back to his side. _No, damn it!_ With a strength that brought instant tears to his eyes, he forced his arm back up into position.

John was expecting to see thin lines of blood appearing on his eldest's back where the welts would be, but it seemed he wasn't hitting as hard as he thought because there was nothing but fabric.

Dean knew why his father paused in confusion, but didn't speak up. Though the blows were enough to send shockwaves through his wounded body, the bandage wrapped around his ribs was preventing his skin from receiving the full impact and from splitting open. Since that's what John usually used to gage his punishments, Dean knew he was in for a rough night. The problem was, he just didn't care right now.

John decided he needed to step up his game. Apparently the booze had weakened his strength a bit. "Your mistake nearly cost your brother his _life_!" He brought the belt down again with as much strength as he could muster.

This time, Dean was sure the belt had cut straight through the bandages and into his skin. He cried out in agony and involuntarily dropped to his knees. He was pretty sure his busted ribs had caved even further into his chest cavity on that one.

"Ge' up!" John roared with anger at his son's apparent weakness. "I didn' raise a baby!" He lunged forward and grabbed Dean's right shoulder, spinning him around and slamming his busted back into the wall. Dean's head ricocheted off the wall as well, sending stars to join the sparks firing off throughout his body. The air was knocked from Dean's lungs, which he was grateful for because there would have been no other way to hold in the scream that was caught in his throat from his father's death grip on his torn shoulder.

"How could you just stan' there and not help your brother?! What did you do, jus' watch and let it happen?!"

"N-no…" Dean tried to gasp out, but he wasn't sure his father had heard him.

"You know damn well how to take out a spirit! I've been trainin' you for years so shit like this wouldn' happen! Have I been completely wastin' my time on you?!"

_I could have lost my baby boy tonight_…

"D-dad…" Dean did manage to force out, though it felt as though he tore his throat while doing so.

"No more excuses!" John bellowed in his face before drawing back a fist and planting it straight into Dean's cheekbone. Dean, who had seen the fist coming, rolled with the punch to lighten the blow. After all, a black eye would be a bit hard to explain away next time he went to visit his brother in the hospital.

John pulled his son away from the wall by the collar of his scrubs and dropped him heavily to the floor. Dean managed to keep his head from connecting a second time, but only just. Too bad he couldn't say the same about his shoulder or rib cage. He curled onto his left side, hugging his ribs in a feeble attempt at holding them in place.

John bent down and grabbed the front of Dean's shirt again, ready to shake some sense in to him when he realized there was blood on the fabric, right above Dean's heart.

"What the…?"

He paused long enough for Dean to start pleading. "Dad, please… I…"

John pulled down the collar of Dean's shirt to find a piece of gauze taped to his chest which was drenched with blood. John sobered immediately.

"Dean?"

"I'm sorry, dad. Please, I didn't mean for Sammy to get hurt, I swear. Please…" Dean whimpered, trying to curl back into a ball and hide his injuries from his father once again.

"Dean, look at me, son. Why is your chest bleeding?" John's anger had turned instantly to fear and concern for his eldest. He hadn't realized _both_ his boys had been hurt in the attack. Dean hadn't mentioned any injuries of his own. In fact, he said he was fine!

Dean put his left arm against his chest, preventing John from getting a better look and attempting to protect himself if his father felt he hadn't learned his lesson just yet. He tried to pull his knees in to his chest as well, but every inch they rose the pain in his back went up a notch. He didn't answer his dad's question.

"Let me see it, Dean," John demanded knowing it was the only tone his son would respond to at this point.

Dean was flat out sobbing now, feeling as though he had not only failed his brother, but now his father as well. The man should be beating a lesson into him, not feeling concerned for him. He was such a weakling.

John carefully pushed Dean's knees back down until he had enough access to his son's chest, then pulled Dean's arm away from his body with his right hand and used his left hand to pull at his collar again. Only then did it register his son was wearing scrubs instead of his own clothes. How had he not noticed that before?

John had really screwed up this time. He should have known Dean wouldn't just stand idly by and watch his brother get attacked. He should have also known that Dean would downplay his injuries as much as possible. His eldest had been hurt by the spirit too and kept it from him. Even with the alcohol flowing through his system, it dawned on John why his son would do that.

Dean _wanted _to be punished because he felt responsible for Sam getting hurt. Apparently Dean _had _done exactly what his father had taught him over the past eleven years and it was John who failed to see it. Thankfully, he saw it now. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

He reached out to try and comfort his son and to apologize for what he had done, but Dean flinched away fearing more pain.

"Oh god, Dean… What have I done? I'm so sorry, son. I promised you boys I wouldn't drink anymore. Now look what I've…"

"It's o-okay, d-dad," Dean stuttered out between sobs and gasps for air, both of which he was trying desperately to control. "I d-deserved it."

John had tears dripping down his own cheeks now. Had he really screwed up his boy's esteem enough to make him believe anything he did was worth _that_?

"No, Dean. This whole thing is _my _fault. I should have been there to protect you boys. You're both _my _responsibility. I screwed up and then failed to realize it and took it out on the wrong person. Jesus, Dean… Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"

"Had to p-protect S-Sam." Dean was getting weaker. He felt as though he was on the verge of passing out again.

"You let me worry about him for now, okay? Right now, we need to take care of you."

TBC

There you have it! Gah, I feel so guilty just writing it! How did I do? Please review!


	7. Lucidness

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

John reached down to help his son up, but Dean recoiled.

"No, dad. Please! Wait! Just give me a second…"

Dean was fighting against the pain, nausea, and darkness that were flooding through him.

"Alright, Dean. Just stay right there and don't move. I'm gonna check you over, okay?"

"I'll be fine. Really. It's not that bad," Dean lied on impulse.

"You let me be the judge of that. Are you okay on your left side or do you want to sit up against the wall?"

"No!" Dean shouted in fear. He couldn't handle his back brushing against anything right now let alone supporting his weight against a wall. "Just… Just leave me here. Please…"

"Okay, Dean. Okay. Relax, son. Just focus on breathing right now. I'll grab the med kit from the bathroom."

John stood up so fast that Dean's vision blurred. He closed his eyes, trying to control his uncooperative stomach.

When John returned and saw his son had his eyes closed, he feared that the boy had passed out. He knelt by his side and grabbed his right shoulder, intending on shaking him awake again. Dean's eyes shot open and he gasped in pain. John released him immediately.

"You still with me, son?"

Dean swallowed convulsively a few times before nodding.

"I need you to tell me where you're hurt before I make anything worse, okay?"

"Shoulder… back… chest," Dean grunted through clenched teeth.

"Stay still, Dean." John grabbed ahold of Dean's top with both hands and tore it at the seams. Only when it was out of his way did he realize the extent of his son's injuries.

Dean's left hand was clawing at the floor, fighting for some sort of purchase to make the pain ease off a bit. John noticed and took his son's hand into his own.

"Easy, kiddo… Just breathe through it."

"C-can't…" Dean gasped out, tightening his hold on his father's calloused hand.

"You have to, Dean. I know it hurts, but you have to keep breathing. That's an order."

"Yes, s-sir."

Dean's breath was sounding more and more ragged and was increasing in speed. John rested the palm of his other hand against his son's chest where the bandage was and he could feel Dean's heart beating rapidly.

"Calm down, son. Panickin's just gonna make it worse."

"N-not p-panicking… Can't b-breathe…"

John noticed the first aid bandage wrapped around Dean's chest. "Did you have broken ribs from the spirit?"

Dean nodded.

"Damn it, Dean… Why didn't you tell me before?" John didn't wait for an answer. He took the scissors out of the kit and began carefully cutting through the layers of the bandage. It would have been easier on the boy to unwrap them slowly so he could adjust, but since he was on his side, that wasn't exactly an option.

Once the bandage was released John moved in behind his son. He could easily see the bruising all down Dean's back from what must have been a terrible impact, and now there were also deep welts appearing from the belt. He placed a restraining hand on Dean's right hip and began skimming his other hand as gently as possible over his boy's back, searching for the broken ribs.

Dean tensed and jerked away from his father's prodding hands when he put pressure on particularly deep bruises, but arched backwards at a painful angle when John ran his fingers over the ribs in his lower back.

"Ah! Dad!"

John tightened his grip on Dean's hip, trying to restrict his movements as much as possible to prevent further injury.

"Okay… It's okay, Dean… I gotcha, buddy."

Dean felt his ribs shift in his back and realized he was about to lose the war with his stomach. He wrapped his left arm around his abdomen and tried to warn his father.

"D-dad…"

John saw his boy change colors from red, to pale white, to a sickly green over a span of just seconds. When Dean wrapped his arm around his stomach, he knew why. He grabbed the closest trash can and attempted to raise Dean just high enough to make use of it. Dean lost what little control he did have when his body screamed at him for being moved and the room started to spin again. Though there wasn't much of anything left in his stomach since the night before, it certainly wasn't deterred.

His abdomen clenched painfully, adding to the other agonies fighting for attention in his body. Dean clutched at his father's arm as John held his son's fragile frame close to his chest, willing the pain to transfer into himself. God, his boy didn't deserve any of this. He never had.

John's mind was in overdrive, racing through all the medical knowledge he had and trying to make a diagnosis with no x-ray equipment available to him. With how far Dean's ribs were indented and the difficulty he was having breathing, there was a good chance he had a punctured lung.

Bullet wounds, knife wounds, and possessions he could handle, but this was a little bit out of his league. Then he noticed his boy was going from green to blue. He was turning cyanotic.

"Dean, I think we need to get you to the hospital."

"No! Dad, we c-can't…"

"It'll be okay. I just got us some new insurance cards and it'll take them a while to figure out they're fake."

"Not wh-what I m-meant."

"You worried about Child Protective Services? I think we can convince them you got injured in a fight at school or somethi…"

"N-no… Ch-chest."

"Your chest? Dean, what…?"

John eased his son back down to the floor once his stomach seemed a bit more under control and then moved back in front of Dean, remembering the bloody bandage over his heart.

"What happened, bud? Did you land on somethin' sharp? Did she have a weapon?" He carefully pried off the soaked bandage and his mouth fell open. "Well… shit."

While they may have been able to pass off the other injuries as wounds from a fight, having a cross carved into his skin was a bit of a stretch. It also didn't help that it was still bleeding pretty heavily.

"What did she use, Dean?"

"Dunno, her mind I th-think." He was starting to shiver now, partly from the cool air on his bare skin and partly from the blood loss and shock.

John looked troubled. "Okay. I need to clean it out and try and stop the bleeding, kiddo. Hang in there." He uncapped a bottle from the kit, then tucked a towel up against Dean's left side to catch the excess liquid. "This might sting a little…"

Remembering the slight sting from the disinfectant at the hospital, Dean nodded, resigned to going through it again.

At first all he felt was the ice cold liquid against his heated skin. Then the fire began. His eyes widened and he tried to twist and flail away from the burning sensation as smoke rose from his chest and the liquid sizzled. In one quick motion, John locked Dean's arms with his own and wrapped one booted leg around his son's waist to keep him from flipping onto his back.

"Don't fight it, Dean. Just let it do its job."

When the burning finally started to die down to a dull throb, Dean was a little pissed. "Wh-what the hell was th-that?"

"Holy water. Had to make sure it was clean."

"Wh-why didn't you w-warn me?"

"I did. Ease up, Dean."

Dean opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, at a loss for words. Then he became pliant again under his dad's strength and weight.

"Atta boy." John released his son's wrists but kept his foot tucked behind Dean to make sure he stayed on his left side. He checked Dean's chest again. "It seems to be bleeding less, but I don't know if we'll be able to remove the marks. I'm sorry, dude, but they might leave permanent scars."

Dean tilted his head to see for himself and groaned at the thought of all the girls he'd miss out on because they'd think he was a religious freak or something. John seemed to read his mind and laughed, mussing up Dean's sweaty hair then taping a new gauze patch down over the wound. "Don't worry, Casanova. Girls have never been able to resist you. Winchester charm. It won't change now."

Dean managed a half-hearted smirk at that, but it disappeared when his father started checking his right shoulder over.

"What happened here? Looks pretty swollen and bruised… Was it dislocated?"

"Yeah, Brian fixed it." Dean found that if he whispered it didn't take so much breath or energy from him. John quirked an eyebrow at his son's quieter tone, but chose to focus on the bigger problems at hand first.

"Who the hell is Brian?"

"EMT. Good guy." Dean pulled the card Brian had given him out of his pocket with his left hand and gave it to his father. "Call him if we need help. No hospitals."

"How do you know we can trust him?"

"He's a big brother too."

John was beginning to worry about Dean's lucidness. That statement didn't make any sense, but he felt he owed it to the boy to humor him. Hell, he owed his boy _way _more than that.

"Fine. We can give it a try, but if it's really bad, I'm taking you in. How's the breathin'? Gettin' any easier?"

"It's… fine." Dean was having trouble staying awake now. He was so exhausted, and the lack of oxygen and surplus of pain were wearing him down. He just wanted to sleep.

"Dean! Keep your eyes open, bud. Don't fall asleep."

Dean hadn't realized his eyes had closed but at his father's command, they popped back open. "'M okay…"

"Sure you are, sport. You stay with me, you hear?"

"Yes, sir."

John pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed the number on the card.

"Here goes nothin'…"

TBC

Please keep the reviews coming! Thank you all so much for your support!


	8. Hidden Wounds

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

Brian was just finishing his last shift of the day when his cell phone started to ring. He glanced at the display and frowned. It was a blocked number.

"Hello?"

"Is this Brian?" answered a gruff voice he didn't recognize.

"Yes it is. May I ask who's calling?"

"My son, Dean, says he knows you."

_Bingo_. "Ah, yeah. I had the pleasure of meeting your sons a few hours ago. I have to say, I'm kind of surprised he used the card. I didn't think he would…" Brian paused as realization hit him. Technically, Dean _wasn't _using the card. The gruff voice spoke again before he could voice his confusion.

"He didn't have much of a choice. He says we can trust you."

"Trust me for what?" A sense of dread flooded over him. "Is everything alright, sir? Is it Sam? Did he wake up?"

"No, at least… I don't think so. God, I have to check on him soon too. But it's Dean. His injuries were worse than he let on. We need your help."

"Dean? He seemed okay at the hospital… What happened? Must be pretty bad if he asked you to call me. Why didn't you call 911?" All these thoughts flew from Brian's mouth before he could stop them.

"Please. I'll explain everything when you get here."

Brian took a calming breath and pulled himself together. "Okay. Where should I meet you?"

"We're staying at a motel called Pine Lodge. It's right off the highway. Room 12."

"Yeah, I know where that is. I'll be there in ten."

"Thank you. And come alone."

The line went dead before he could say another word. Brian stood there, dumbstruck and staring at his cell phone. Rafe walked out of the building behind him and broke him out of his stupor.

"Hey, Bry. Want to grab a beer before you head home?"

"I… Uh, no thanks, man. I've got some stuff to take care of. I'll catch you later, alright?"

"Sure thing. You need any help?" Rafe was picking up on the slight distress and confusion in his partner's eyes.

Brian was tempted to take him up on the offer. After all, he had no idea what he would be up against and he might need back up. But then John's final words emanated through his mind and he shook his head. "Nah, I've got it. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Damn straight." Rafe hopped into his car and took off. Brian decided it was high time he did the same.

Back at the motel, John was doing his best to keep Dean comfortable until help arrived.  
"How're you doin' there, kiddo? Think we can risk gettin' you off the floor?"

The last thing Dean wanted to do was move, but he knew Brian was on his way and didn't want to be seen looking as pathetic as he felt.

"Y-yeah," he gasped out as he tried to lever himself up with his good arm.

"Whoa, whoa… Easy there, tiger. Let me do all the work."

"Dad, wait… What are we goin' to tell Brian?"

"I already took care of him, Dean. Didn't you hear me?"

"I don't think he's gonna fall for it. What if he…?"

"You let me worry about that. Let's get you over to the bed." John knew this Brian guy would be suspicious when he saw the belt lacerations in his son's back, but right now Dean needed help and he would do whatever it took to get it for him. One problem at a time. "Okay, buddy, I'm going to wrap my belt around your ribs so we can move you without making anythin' worse."

Dean nodded, then used his left arm to push himself up an inch or two in order for John to slide the belt underneath his side. John moved quickly, not wanting his son to expend what little strength he had before they got the chance to move him.

"Deep breath, dude."

Dean sucked in as much air as he could without causing unnecessary agony and John winched the belt as tight as he felt was needed around the broken ribs. John tried to ignore the fact that Dean flinched away from both him and the belt as he fastened it. He patted Dean's hip in sympathy when his boy screwed his eyes shut against the pain. John had tried to keep the buckle off of any welts or deep bruises, but it wasn't an easy task.

"Can you still breathe?" He waited patiently for Dean to relax enough to be able to answer.

"Yeah, for the most part."

"Good. Let's get you up." John wished he could just pick up his son and cradle him like he did when he was a boy, but he knew it would be easier on Dean to just guide him as he walked so he wouldn't have to touch his back.

John took Dean's left hand with his own right, then wrapped his other hand around Dean's neck to steady him.

"On three… One… Two…" He pulled Dean up swiftly and fluidly, then tightened his grip when the boy listed to the side and almost ended up back on the floor. "Easy, Dean. I've got you."

Dean's entire torso felt as if it had been hit by a truck, and the abrupt move from laying down to standing upright was raging hell on his queasy stomach. He tightened his grip on his dad's hand and waited for the room to stop spinning. Unfortunately, it didn't.

"Oh god…" Dean sank to his knees again in front of the trash can, tears streaming down his cheeks as his heaving body sent fire through his veins. That's when the knock came at the door.

John gently squeezed the back of Dean's overheated neck in apology. "I'll be right back, kiddo." Dean just groaned in response. Even though he was a complete mess, he still managed to blush in embarrassment at the thought of someone else seeing him like this. _Damn it, Dean! Pull yourself together!_

John went to the door with his shotgun in hand. You can never be too careful these days. "Who is it?" he called, looking through the peephole.

"It's Brian. Are you Dean's dad?"

John hid the gun behind the door and answered it. "Yeah, I'm John. Thanks for comin'."

"No problem. It's sort of my job. Where is he?"

"Inside." John waved the man in, sizing him up the whole time to see if he had made the right decision.

It didn't take long for Brian to find Dean, still doubled-up on the floor over the trash can with only his jeans on and a belt around his lower torso.

"What in the…? Dean?" He rushed to the boy and dropped to a crouch in front of him. "Dean, what happened?"

"Guess I was worse off than I thought," the boy answered hoarsely with a forced smirk.

Brian's eyes were immediately drawn to the welts on Dean's back. "Did the woman in the park do this to you? Why didn't you say anything at the hospital?"

"Didn't hurt as much then."

"You were hiding it from me, Dean, and I let you. Jesus, kid, you're a mess."

"I'll be fine. Just need a little help."

"You know, most kids in your position would be screaming bloody murder. You're a pretty tough kid."

This time Dean did manage a real smirk. "That's how I was raised."

Normally John would be beaming at the compliment, but realizing that he had allowed his children to be hurt so often that broken bones and dislocations were the pain equivalent to a paper cut for the average child, his stomach churned. Not to mention he was responsible for some of those injuries, both past and present. What kind of life was that for a child? What kind of life was it for a man who had no other choice if he wanted to keep his family alive?

"I need you to be honest with me this time around, Dean. I can't help you if I don't know the extent of the damage. I know your shoulder was dislocated and we'll discuss the fact that you're not wearing the sling later… but there was also blood on your chest and I'm going to take a wild leap here and say the belt is holding your ribs together?"

Dean looked up at him, utterly exhausted and practically pleading with the man to just leave him alone so he could pass out and be done with it. He had completely forgotten about the blossoming bruise on his cheek from his father's fist.

Brian's eyes widened as he finally got a look at the boy's face. There was a bright red mark on his cheekbone that would surely be turning black and blue within the next few hours. He was positive it hadn't been there before.

Though he was confused at first by Brian's look of surprise, Dean figured out what the man had noticed and tried to drop his head back down to hide it. Brian reached out quickly and caught Dean's chin, raising it back up gently. He tilted the boy's head just enough to get better lighting.

"Dean? What happened to your cheek? Who hit you?"

Dean broke free of Brian's grip and dropped his eyes back to the floor. "No one. Stood up too fast earlier and caught the corner of the nightstand on the way down. It's no big deal."

John moved quickly to Dean's left and spoke up to distract the new comer.

"I think he has at least two broken ribs in his lower back, maybe a few others fractured. He's having trouble breathing too. You let _me_ worry about the cuts on his chest."

Brian bristled at the command, wondering who this guy thought he was to be ordering a medic around after calling him for help.

"Sir, I let this boy leave the hospital without addressing all his injuries earlier today. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice, so please just let me do my job."

Dean refused to make eye contact with his father, knowing the man would be close to his exploding point after being talked down to by a much younger man. _Please don't go off on him. It won't help our case very much…_

Dean was completely shocked when John chose to take the higher road this time around. "Fine. Let me know if there's anything I can assist with. I was a medic in the Marine Corps."

Even Brian looked relieved. "Thank you, John. I just might have to take you up on that offer since my partner couldn't accompany me."

"Your partner is psychotic," Dean grumbled, finally gaining control over his stomach once again.

Brian chuckled. "Sometimes you have to be in this business. Can you sit up, Dean?"

"Yeah, I think so." But he _so _didn't want to find out anytime soon.

"Okay, nice and easy… Just relax back onto your heels." He slowly guided Dean backwards with a hand on his good arm until the boy was seated with his legs tucked underneath him. "You good?"

"Fan-freakin'-tastic."

"Glad to hear it. At least we don't have to argue about takin' off the shirt this time around." Brian was trying to keep the atmosphere as light as possible to make Dean feel more comfortable. It didn't work. Dean blushed again, wishing he had some form of a shirt on, even if it was just the stupid hospital scrubs.

Brian patted his good shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. You don't have anything I haven't seen before."

Dean snorted. _Yeah? You haven't seen my chest yet…_

TBC

A/N: I just wanted to take this time to thank everyone who has sent in a review so far! You guys are all amazing and so supportive, especially those of you who review every chapter! And thanks again to Lia Walker for pitching the original idea and letting me play with it!! As for my other story (if anyone is still interested), The War to End All Wars, I promise I'll update again soon. I just haven't had a lot of time to think it through and I've been more focused on keeping this story updated frequently!


	9. Decisions Made

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

Once Dean was sitting relatively straight, Brian carefully moved in behind Dean, ready to start addressing his injuries. Dean tensed automatically, never having been a fan of strangers touching him and feeling very insecure having all his old scars and new injuries exposed for everyone to see. He also didn't like people behind him. It was ingrained in him to always keep his back to the wall so no one and nothing could get the drop on him.

Though Brian assumed Dean's nerves were in preparation for the pain he was expecting to feel soon, John knew better. He knelt down in front of his son and ran a hand through his short, spiky hair.

"It'll be okay, kiddo."

Brian snapped on some gloves from his kit, not wanting to make any lacerations worse by infecting them. Dean swallowed loudly enough for both men to hear and tried to crane his neck to see what the medic was doing. Brian chuckled. "That sound does seem to have an adverse affect on people. You can blame _that_ on television."

He ran his fingers gently over Dean's bruised and bleeding back. The closer he looked, the more scars he found. It made his stomach churn. What had this kid been through? He immediately felt more protective of him and the little boy still in the hospital. He'd be keeping a close eye on John whenever possible.

Brian could feel and hear how much effort it was taking Dean to breathe. He frowned in concern. He knew for a fact the boy was in much worse shape than he had been earlier at the hospital. If there had been internal damage, even the toughest kid on the planet wouldn't have been able to hide it. If there was internal damage, it was from a more recent injury.

He pulled his stethoscope from around his neck and warmed the end between his gloved hands before placing it on Dean's back. "I need you to take as deep of a breath as you can, Dean."

The boy did as he was told but he couldn't inhale very deeply at all.

"Hang on. I'm going to take the belt off, okay? I promise I'll wrap your ribs again as soon as I can."

Dean nodded, clenching his jaw against the pain he knew was coming. When he inhaled again, Brian unfastened the belt and dropped it to the floor. An unexpected cough nearly sent Dean head-first into his father's chest as black spots invaded his vision once again.

Brian quickly placed the stethoscope back in his ears and moved the diaphragm (chest piece) to strategic places on the boy's back. Dean tried to continue breathing on cue while fighting back the urge to cough.

"Well, good news and bad news. It doesn't sound like you've punctured either lung, but they could very well be bruised and that's what's causing the difficulty breathing. I won't know for sure until we get you to the hospital for x-rays."

"What? No!" Dean slid to his left, using his good arm to brace himself and trying to get away from Brian. The man reached out to catch him, but drew back at the look of fear in the boy's eyes.

"Dean…"

"I had dad call you so I _wouldn't_ have to check in to the hospital! Just do what you can. I'll be fine, I swear."

Brian sighed. "John, do you mind if I talk to Dean alone for a sec?"

Dean paled even more.

"I'd rather stay with my son if it's all the same to you."

Brian locked determined eyes with the boy's father. "I really must insist, sir. We won't be long, I promise."

Knowing Brian held all the cards at this point, John looked to his son, then back at the medic. "Five minutes. Call me if you need me, Dean. I'll go make some coffee." He stood and stalked to the kitchen.

Brian placed a gloved hand on the boy's knee. "Dean? Talk to me, man. How did you get all these scars? What happened after you left the hospital?"

"Really not in a talkin' mood right now, Brian. Kinda hard to breathe," Dean tried.

"Fine. You're right. We should get you to the hospital ASAP then." He moved to stand up, but Dean grabbed his arm.

"Look, you wouldn't believe me if I told you, okay?"

"Child abuse is pretty easy to believe actually, especially with all the evidence written on your skin."

"It's not like that. Well, not for the most part anyways. My dad didn't give me these scars."

"Then who did?"

"Not who, what."

"What?"

"Exactly."

"Dean, I have no idea what you're talkin' about."

"Okay, crazy woman in the park?"

"Yeah?"

"She was a spirit."

"A… spirit…"

"Yeah. My family… We sort of hunt the supernatural."

"So you're tryin' to tell me that the classic horror films are actually true?"

"If it helps, big foot is a hoax."

"Dean…"

"Told you you wouldn't believe me."

"Crazy spirit lady in the park gave you all those injuries?"

"Most of 'em, yeah."

"Not the black eye though. That's a new one."

"Well…yeah."

"Mind tellin' me how it really happened?"

"Yeah, I do actually."

"And these cuts on your back… They look an awful lot like belt lacerations. In fact, this spot here…" Brian gently prodded a square-shaped bruise on Dean's back. "Looks a lot like your father's belt buckle." Dean winced and pulled away from Brian's touch.

"Strange coincidence."

"I bet. Dean, I can help you if you let me."

"You want to help me? Make my little brother wake up."

"I…"

"That's what I thought."

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In the kitchen, John set up the coffee maker and leaned back against the counter waiting not so patiently. The quiet alone time was giving him a chance to think, and he really didn't want to do that. His mind started flashing back to when Dean arrived home.

John remembered swinging the belt with all his might, thinking the booze had weakened his strength. He remembered his son trying to hold himself together to endure his punishment. He remembered Dean crying out in pain and flinching away from his touch. He remembered his son pleading with him and begging him for forgiveness for something that was more than likely completely out of his control. Above all, he remembered his little soldier's resignation to being punished. Mission accomplished. Dean would never screw up again.

John bolted into the bathroom and emptied the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet. He found masochistic pleasure in the fact that the alcohol burned twice as much coming back up as it had done going down. After all, if any of the Winchesters deserved pain at this point, it was him. Talk about karma.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Alright, let's finish patchin' up your back so we can get your ribs wrapped up."

"Works for me."

Brian cleaned each wound that had broken the skin as thoroughly as he could, pausing on occasion to give Dean a reprieve from the pain. He taped gauze patches over the worst of the lacerations and was just about to start wrapping Dean's ribs again when John came back into the room looking pale but determined. The father motioned to the ace bandage.

"I can help you with that."

Brian nodded, realizing the man was trying to make amends for what he had done by helping now.

Dean held his arms up as high as he could and the two men passed the bandage to each other until his ribs were wrapped securely in place. Brian clipped the end so it wouldn't unravel.

"Anything else I need to know about, Dean? The couple who called 911 said she was sitting on top of you. Did she force you into doing something you didn't…?"

"No. Just threw me around a bit."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure! What the hell kind of question is that? I was there, remember?" Dean barked indignantly.

"Some people block traumatic things like that out or prefer to pretend it never happened."

"Well it _didn't _happen. She thought she was my mother for cryin' out loud! Whatever the couple told you, they were wrong. She pinned me to the ground. Nothin' more."

"Okay. Sorry, I had to ask. We do need to get that x-ray of your chest though."

"At the hospital?"

"Yes."

"You can't let the other doctors find out, okay? They won't understand."

"I'm sure we can sneak you in and out without much of a fuss. It's been a pretty slow day so far."

"Let's go then. I want to check on Sammy."

John sighed. _So much for coffee…_

TBC

No worries everyone! All of your questions will be answered by the end or I will answer them all personally if you stick it out with me. Sam and the spirit will be making reappearances soon, I promise! As always, any input is greatly appreciated. I'm open to ideas! **cough cough… Jensen…(if you're seriously reading this story) haha** Am I doing the characters justice so far? And Brian hasn't given up on his interrogation. He's just prioritizing for the moment ;)


	10. The Awakening

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

Brian parked in the back of the hospital near the ambulance bay. Since they didn't call ahead, he figured they would be able to get inside without too many questions or too much interference. He and John eased Dean out of the backseat and more or less kept him upright and walking. Dean spoke up for the first time since they left the motel room as they made their way down the main hallway towards the Radiology Department.

"I want to see Sammy."

John grumbled in frustration. He had known this was going to happen. "Dean, we're gettin' you checked out first. Then you can see your brother."

"But dad, I…"

"Later, Dean."

The boy didn't have much choice seeing as the two men were keeping him off the floor. He wouldn't get very far on his own.

Dean felt mortified. It seemed like every nurse and patient that they passed stared directly at him, wondering what was wrong with him.

Before they had left the motel, John had wrapped one of his long sleeved, button-up shirts around Dean's shoulders to keep him warm and give him a little more dignity. But with the way people were staring, he felt as though he might as well be naked and parading his injuries around. _Do I really look that bad?_

He was pretty sure one of the patients had been in a knife fight, and even though he was bleeding all over the floor, _he _looked concerned when Dean shuffled past. The boy actually felt relieved when he made it into the privacy of the x-ray room.

"John, can you hold him for a sec? I need to talk to the Radiographer. He's a buddy of mine, so we shouldn't run into much trouble."

John tightened his grip around Dean to take more of his weight as Brian moved away to talk to the only other man in the room. They were too far away to be overheard, but judging by the look on the Radiographer's face, he wasn't too happy with Brian's proposal. Never-the-less, he nodded in concession and he and Brian headed for the Winchesters.

"What seems to be the trouble?" he asked, smiling warmly at Dean as though trying to comfort the terrified boy.

"He's havin' trouble breathin'. Think he might have some busted ribs," John grunted out, tense enough to whisk Dean out of the room in seconds if necessary.

"Well let's find out, shall we?" He held out a hand, beckoning for Dean to follow him. Dean looked to his dad who nodded gravely. What choice did they have at this point? Dean moved forward, looking like he was headed to the gallows. Dean flinched as the man put his hand on his good shoulder but tried to play it off as though he were just stretching.

"I'm Chris, by the way," the Radiographer said.

"Dean."

"I wish we were meeting under different circumstances, Dean, but such is the way of my profession. Brian told me not to ask about your black eye, but I at least have to say that if you are in some sort of trouble, you should probably speak to one of us or the authorities."

Dean remained silent, so Chris sighed and continued as though he hadn't said anything.

"Now, if you could just remove your shirt and lay down on this table… Do you have any metal such as piercings or plates that can't be removed?"

Dean shook his head, wondering how on earth he was going to lie still on that table with his back aching as it was. When Dean didn't start doing as he was asked, Chris produced a hospital gown thinking he was just shy.

"You can put this on if it'll make you feel more comfortable. Brian and your father will accompany me in the other room while you change and the x-rays are taken. If you need any help with the gown, just ask."

Dean slowly reached out and took the gown. "Thanks. Can my dad help me?"

"If you'd prefer. I'll give you guys a few minutes."

Chris walked over to Brian and John, told John that his son requested his help, then took Brian into the other room. John quirked an eyebrow as he neared his son.

"You alright, sport?"

Dean didn't know why he asked for his father and now he felt embarrassed that he had. "Yeah, I'm good. Just didn't want him to see my back. You know, just in case."

"God, Dean… I'm so sorry I put you through all this."

"It's okay, dad. I screwed up and Sammy could have died because of it. I swear I won't disobey an order from you again."

John had nothing left to say on the subject. "Come on, let's get you changed so we can get these x-rays over with."

He helped Dean ease the flannel shirt off his shoulders, then tied the strings of the gown tight enough to keep it from slipping off of him, but loose enough to not cause him more pain. He took Dean's elbow and guided him to a sitting position on the exam table. Dean tensed the second he sat down.

"It'll be quick, Dean. Then we'll go see your brother."

Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded. John patted his knee.

"I'll go tell the doc you're ready." With that, he stalked out of the room, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts and fears.

He jumped when the door swung open again, announcing the return of Chris. "Alrighty then. I'm gonna need you to lay down to the right, flat on your back. Which ribs are causing you pain?"

"Lower back."

"Okay. I'm going to help you then. Can you swing your hips around and get your legs onto the table?"

Dean used his good arm to slide himself further onto the table and slowly turned, bring his legs up and trying not to pass out or throw up as the motion caused the muscles in his back and abdomen to tense. Chris was there seconds later, grabbing his knees to reduce the strain and laying them down gently on the table.

"Thanks. Oh, shit… Brian wrapped my ribs earlier to make it easier to breathe. Is that going to affect the image?"

"If it's holding the two broken pieces together, then it could make it harder to find the break. Why don't we take the bandage off for now and put it right back on when we're done?"

"Fine. I'll do it."

"The less moving you do, the better. Just stay sitting up and I'll handle the rest." He slid his hands underneath the gown and ran his fingers gently over the bandage, looking for the end. Once he found it, he un-tucked it and was able to unravel it without removing the gown for which Dean was very grateful. However, he wasn't overly thrilled with the renewed pain in his back. "There we go. Now, I'm going to help ease you down so you're laying flat."

Chris put his hands just under Dean's arms from behind him, using his thumbs against Dean's shoulder blades for support.

"On three… One, two, three." Dean forced himself to relax as Chris guided him down onto the table, doing his best to lighten the impact as much as possible. The second Dean was flat on his back, he was already having trouble breathing again. "Do you need to sit back up for a minute, Dean?" Chris asked, frowning in concern.

"No, I'm good. Just take the x-rays so I can get up again."

"Okay. I can hear you from the other room, so if you get too uncomfortable or it gets harder to breathe, you call me."

"Kay."

Chris laid a heavy lead apron over Dean's lower half to protect it from the radiation. Dean, who was already having trouble breathing, felt confined and groaned at the added weight. In his weakened state, it felt as heavy as Sammy did.

Chris hurried to the back room to work the machine. He pressed the comm. button to speak to the boy. "Dean, I need you to take the deepest breath you can and hold it for a few seconds."

Dean did as he was told and regretted it instantly. It felt like his lungs were in a vice and the deeper he inhaled, the tighter the vice got. He held his breath for as long as he could (which wasn't very long at all) and heard the machine whirring above him. Chris had him do it two more times to ensure they get at least one decent picture, and on the last exhale, Dean let out a small whimper he just couldn't hold in anymore. He wanted off the table. Now.

Chris walked back into the room and once Dean saw him, he immediately tried to scoot himself off the table, assuming it meant he was done.

"Hang on there, son. We need to get two side shots as well. You should be able to breath easier on your side. Do you have a preference?"

"Left side," Dean grunted without hesitation.

Chris helped reposition him, then disappeared back into the other room. Dean heard the whirring again as Chris moved the machine into place above him. _I just want to see Sam. Please, just let me see Sam…_

Finally, after three more photos were taken, the three men entered to help Dean sit back up. Once he was vertical again, it was a bit easier to breathe. Chris excused himself from the room with the films so he could get them exposed. Brian carefully rewrapped Dean's ribs and John helped him get dressed again. Brian had also found an empty wheelchair in the hallway and once Dean was ready to go, he and John carefully lowered the boy onto it much to Dean's dismay.

"I can walk, guys."

"Sorry, kid, but my arms are still tired from when you tried to _walk _yourself in here. Just sit there and enjoy the ride. We're off to go see Sam."

'_Bout damn time._

The group made their way through the complex corridors until they reached Sam's door. Sam's doctor caught sight of the small family as he was making his rounds. He headed for them, hating this part of his job. John looked up as he approached.

"Doc? How's my boy? Did he wake up yet?"

"I'm very sorry, but other than a few muscle twitches, Sam has been practically comatose since he was brought in here. The good news is his condition hasn't worsened, and he is still stable."

"So what's keepin' him under?" Dean demanded.

"Honestly? We just don't know. In my professional opinion, Sam will wake up when he's ready to face whatever happened in that park. We will continue to monitor him closely. It's the best we can do for now."

Dean didn't stick around to hear any more. He took hold of the wheels on the chair himself and rolled into his little brother's room. Sam was waking up, damn it. There was no other option in Dean's eyes. He carefully made his way to Sam's beside.

"Dude, you've gotta stop with this sleepin' beauty shit. Just face it. I'm always gonna be the prettier one." Dean stared at his brother, willing him to just open his eyes. He placed his hand over Sam's, being very careful not to jostle the IV port. "Come on, kiddo. Big brother isn't a fan of this game anymore."

There was a slight movement underneath Dean's hand. He gaped. Did Sam just move?

"Sammy?"

Sam didn't respond and Dean's stomach clenched. It must have just been one of those muscle twitches the doc had been referring too. He reached forward and brushed Sam's long bangs away from his face again. It was a common gesture he felt comfort in. As much as he teased his brother about getting his hair cut, it gave Sam that look of innocence and Dean wouldn't have it any other way.

"Sam, please wake up. You're freaking Dad out. Okay, maybe me too."

When there was no reaction once again, Dean slumped back in his wheelchair, feeling defeated.

Another twitch came from Sam's hand and a small wrinkle creased his forehead. Dean straightened back up again, afraid to get his hopes up for nothing but desperate enough to do just that.

"Sammy? Open your eyes, bro."

Sam's eyelids flickered and the boy groaned quietly. Dean's heart leapt.

"That's it… Follow my voice, dude. I'm right here. You need to wake up now." He reached out and took Sam's hand again, hoping it would help guide his brother back to consciousness. Sam finally began to stir. His head tossed on the pillow a few times, then he turned to face his brother and cracked his hazel eyes open. "Sammy?"

Sam looked confused at first, but then there was recognition in his eyes.

"Zachary…?"

Dean's heart plummeted.

"Dad!"

TBC

Please review!!


	11. Making Things Right

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

John, who had still been talking to the doctor outside, heard his eldest son's frantic call and raced into Sam's room, fearing the worst. He stopped short when he saw that Sam was actually awake. _Jesus Dean… Don't scare me like that!_

"Sammy, thank god."

"Dad, somethin's wrong," Dean warned as John started making his way to the bedside. "He…"

"Who are you?" Sam was looking directly at his father, head tilted to the side in question.

John frowned. This had to be some sort of twisted joke the boys cooked up for him, right?

"Sam, don't screw around. Now is not the…"

"Don't come any closer!" Sam shouted, making Dean and John jump. "Make him go away, Zachary."

John quirked an eyebrow at his eldest. "Dean? What on Earth is going on here? Who the hell is Zachary?"

"She did this to him, dad. The spirit. She called her sons Zachary and Peter. She must have messed with his head when she…" Dean trailed off, feeling sick to his stomach. _Please don't let this be permanent._

"Maybe it's just a concussion. Doc!" John called out into the hallway, hoping the doctor was still nearby. Seconds later, the man stuck his head into the room.

"Somethin' wrong?" He smiled when he saw that the young boy had finally woken up. "Welcome back, son."

Sam didn't pay him any attention. He turned back to his brother and reached out to him. "Zack, where's Mommy?"

_Aw crap._ "She's not here right now, kiddo." Dean took Sam's hand back into his own. He had retracted his hand earlier when Sam had called him Zachary. Now he knew Sam needed him more than ever. "It's okay though. I'm still here."

Sam's hand tightened around his and he gave his big brother the doe-eyed look full of fear and unadulterated trust.

The doctor turned questioningly towards John. "I thought your son's name was Dean?"

"It is. Somethin' is wrong with Sammy. Must have hit his head or somethin'."

As the doctor approached the boys, Sam pulled Dean closer.

"It's okay, Sa… Peter. He's not going to hurt you." Dean forced himself out of the wheelchair and sat on the bed next to his brother. Sam curled into his side, trying to disappear, and clung to his arm.

"Wanna go home, Zack," he stated softly so only his brother could hear.

"I know, bud. We'll go home as soon as we can, okay?"

By this time, the doc had made his way to Sam's other side. "I just need you to look straight ahead, son."

Sam buried his face into his brother's arm. Dean extricated his arm and wrapped it around Sam's shoulders in comfort. "Come on, kiddo. Just do what he says. I've got you."

Slowly, Sam turned to look back at the other man and did as he was told. The doc shined a flashlight into his eyes which made him squint and his head hurt.

"Pupils are responsive and equally dilated. We checked him for head trauma when he was brought in. Perhaps it's more the _emotional_ trauma that is causing this separate identity and memory loss. I will have a therapist come down and speak with him tomorrow. We should let him rest for now and see if his condition improves by itself with a little time."

Dean practically growled under his breath. _A therapist isn't going to undo what that bitch did to him. Only dad and I can help him now._

"John, you and Dean should go home and get some rest. You both look exhausted. We'll keep an eye on Sam and let you know if he improves."

John nodded and the doctor left the room. He waited until he was sure the doc was really gone.

"We gotta go, Dean."

Sam clung to Dean's waist, his cast feeling like a brick across Dean's abdomen. "Don't leave me, Zack!"

Dean winced at the painfully tight grip that was just below his ribs but didn't try to shake Sam off of him. It had been a few years since his little brother had been this clingy, and if he were honest with himself, Dean missed feeling so needed. "I'm not leaving you, dude. You're comin' with us."

"Where are we going?" Sam lifted his head enough to look into his brother's sincere eyes.

"Home. We're going home, little brother." Dean turned to his father. "Where's Brian? We're gonna need his help again."

"He's waitin' outside. I'll get him, you get your brother ready to go."

"Yes, sir." Dean turned back to Sam as his father exited the room. "Let me see your right hand, kiddo."

Sam did as he was asked without the slightest hesitation and Dean carefully removed Sam's IV port. He unclipped the pulse ox monitor from Sam's finger as well as a few other leads and then the youngest Winchester was finally free. The boy's clothes were folded up in a nearby chair. Dean tossed them on the bed.

"Change up and we'll hit the road."

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John found Brian leaning up against a wall just outside of Sam's room. Brian straightened up and met the exhausted father halfway.

"Hey, John. Chris just stopped by with Dean's x-ray results. Looks like the last two ribs are indeed broken and he has one other on the right side that is cracked. He gave me a prescription to give to you for painkillers. You can get them at the desk on the way out. That kid must be in a world of hurt."

"Not like he'd ever admit to it…" John grumbled. Sometimes he feared he raised his boys to be _too _brave and selfless; particularly his eldest. He needed his sons to be strong when on a hunt, but downplaying serious injuries could be just as deadly. _Especially when I beat the hell outta him on top of everythin' else…Never again._

"Yeah. He's one hell of a kid. They both are. Just… try to remember they're still kids, okay?"

John nodded, wishing it were true. His boys never had the chance to be "just kids." They were soldiers, and their future looked just as bleak as their past. It wasn't fair, but since when did life care about that?

Brian could tell John was still very worried. "They'll both be alright, John. The doctors here know what they're doing."

"No. They don't have a goddamn clue. I want to take my boys home, Brian. It's the only way for them to heal, especially Sammy. He needs to be in familiar surroundings to jog his memory and this hospital just doesn't quite cut it. If his condition worsens, we can bring him right back."

Brian balked. "There is absolutely no way this hospital will discharge the boys anytime soon with the seriousness of their injuries."

"Yeah, I was afraid of that. Will you help me?"

Brian quirked an eyebrow. "Help you _what_ exactly?"

"I need to take my boys outta here. No one will try to stop us if you're with us."

"Wait just a minute, John. Why the rush to leave all of a sudden? What are you afraid the doctors will find out?"

John bristled, knowing exactly to what Brian was alluding. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

_Boy did _those _words sound familiar…_ _Like father, like son._

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call Child Services on you right now."

"Cause my boys _need_ me. Like it or not. You take them away, and anythin' that happens to them will be on _your _head. I'm gonna go get Dean's painkillers. Then we're leavin', with or without your help." John stalked off down the hallway.

Brian sighed. That hadn't gone very well at all. Though he wanted nothing to do with putting the boys further into harm's way, if he at least went along for the ride he'd be there to pick up the pieces if necessary. First, he wanted to see what the boys thought about the whole situation. He turned and gently knocked on Sam's door.

Dean appeared, exiting the room and closing the door behind him. "Sammy's gettin' changed. What's up?"

_Where do I even start?_

"How're you boys doin'?"

"We're fine."

Short and sweet, and also a blatant lie. How could they possibly be fine with all the evidence of abuse written across their flesh? There wasn't much Brian could do for them if they didn't admit to it though.

"Dean, we need to talk about this."

Dean frowned, confused at first as to what Brian was talking about. _Oh…_ "You still don't believe me, do you?"

"Well can you blame me? I mean, your only defense is _ghosts_! I've gotta admit, I don't hear that option very often."

"Maybe because people are oblivious to what's really out there."

_Or are you oblivious to what's really going on here?_

"Look, believe what you want, man. But my father is a good man. He's done right by us ever since…"

"Ever since what, Dean?"

"Ever since our mom died. Yeah, he's not perfect, but he's my dad and I wouldn't have him any other way. Speakin' of… Where did he go?"

There was a slight edge of panic in Dean's voice, almost like he expected his father to have abandoned them there at the hospital.

"He just went to get you your painkillers. He'll be right back."

Dean let out a small sigh of relief. "Okay, good."

A small voice called out for Zachary from behind the closed door. Dean hung his head for a second before standing.

"I'm gonna go check on him. Let me know when my dad gets back, okay?"

"You got it, kid."

Dean smiled, then disappeared through the door. Sam had managed to get his jeans on but was tangled up in his shirt and trying to fight his cast through the sleeve. Dean chuckled. "Need a little help there, dude?"

Sam stopped struggling, looking defeated and every bit like the little brother he used to be, always turning to Dean to make things right again. "I think I'm stuck," he pouted.

"Yeah, I think you're right. Hang on, buddy." With a few tugs and pushes, they managed to get Sam's arm through the sleeve. Sam shot him one of his patented gigawatt smiles and Dean tousled his hair. _I'm gonna make this right again, Sammy. I promise._

TBC

Please review! Any requests for upcoming chapters? I'm always open to suggestions! The action picks up again in the next chapter and the plot will thicken!


	12. Going Home

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

Brian waited patiently outside the boys' room for John to return with Dean's prescription. Though he wasn't too happy with the idea, John had convinced Brian to help sneak the boys out of the hospital and bring them back to the motel. Maybe there he would get some straight answers.

John came back, prescription in hand, and was about to knock on the door to check on his boys when it opened from the inside. Sam and Dean stood there, hand-in-hand and ready to go.

With Brian leading the procession, they made it to the ambulance bay without raising any suspicion. All three Winchesters piled into the back so they wouldn't be seen and so John could keep an eye on his kids. Brian started the ambulance up and shortly after, they were on the road.

"So, what now?" Brian called over his shoulder. "You're hopin' Sam will just magically regain his memory?"

"Somethin' like that," John practically growled.

"Terrific. Glad you have a plan." Brian felt the static in the atmosphere and cracked his window, hoping for a little fresh air and to make the ambulance seem larger than it really was with four people crammed inside of it.

"You got somethin' to say, say it," the father demanded.

"I want the truth, John! I'm risking my job here helping you guys out. The least you could do is be honest with me!"

"What the hell do you want to know then?!"

"Did you give Dean that black eye and the cuts on his… Holy shit!"

The ambulance swerved off the road and Brian slammed on the brakes. John grabbed a hold of his two sons, trying to keep them from flying out the windshield. "What in the hell…?!"

They finally came to a stop and everyone inside the ambulance was silent. Dean craned his neck and peered through the windshield. They had come to a stop inches from the ice cream stand just outside of the park.

Brian was frozen in place, staring straight ahead. "Sorry, guys. Thought I saw somethin' in the road. Everyone okay?"

"Super," Dean croaked out with a hand bracing his ribs.

John produced the painkillers. "Here, Dean. Take two of these."

"I'm good, dad."

"That wasn't a request."

"Yes, sir." He reluctantly dry-swallowed two pills down. Half of him wanted the pain to remind him of his major screw up, but the other half was desperate for a little relief. Either way, he hated to be off his game at the best of times and pills always seemed to have that effect on him. If his father gave him an order, however, it left him with little choice.

Brian threw the ambulance into reverse and gave himself enough clearance to swing the large vehicle back onto the main road.

"What are we doing here?" Dean wondered out loud once he got the pills down.

"This was the shortest route back to the motel. Sorry, Dean. I didn't even think you boys might not want to go this way ever again."

"It's okay, seriously. Though that ice cream vendor might need your assistance after the heart attack we just gave him. What did you see?"

"Must have been an animal or somethin'. Moved too damn fast to really see. I just saw something go in front of the ambulance and reacted."

"Nice reflexes." Dean turned to Sam who had a hand fisted in his brother's shirt. "You alright, dude?"

Sam looked from Dean to Brian and back again before nodding and releasing his death grip. "Yeah, we're okay now, Zack." A small smile crossed his face.

"You bet, little man." Dean smiled back.

Everyone was exhausted when they finally reached the motel. The three Winchesters piled out of the back to stretch their legs and head inside when Sam grabbed Dean's wrist.

"I thought you said we were going home, Zack? This isn't home."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean? Sure it is."

"No, it isn't. We live on the other side of the park. You know that."

"Oh, right… Well, we're stayin' here tonight. Maybe we'll go home tomorrow."

Dean looked up at John who nodded that he got the hint about where the spirit lived. Once they got the rest they desperately needed, they would be able to start researching their newly stumbled upon hunt.

Brian grabbed his med kit "just in case" and they all headed inside.

John had one bed, the boys shared the second, and Brian was given the pull out couch for the night. Sam and Dean both headed straight for their bed, but John and Brian decided to have some of the coffee John had made earlier first. Brian insisted on making the drinks.

Dean smiled. Maybe this was the medic's way of apologizing for suspecting John of abuse. He hoped the two men had finally found a way to reconcile the past because he really did like Brian and having an EMT on their side could come in handy. He was too tired to spend much more time on the thought.

Between the day's excitement and the effects of the painkillers, Dean was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

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Dean had no idea what time it was, but his senses were trying to drag him back to consciousness and all he wanted to do was stay in the dark. He could vaguely hear someone moving about the room. Since he could still feel the bed indented to his left, he assumed it must be his father or Brian heading to the bathroom, or perhaps getting a drink of water.

He felt the right side of the bed indent as well but managed to hide his surprise and continued to play possum. His father must be feeling sentimental after everything they had been through lately. Or maybe it was time for Dean to take another dose of painkillers. His head was still feeling cloudy, so if that was what his father wanted, Dean was going to put up a fight this time.

A gentle hand rested on the side of his head and thumbed at the spiked bangs just above his forehead. Okay… weird. The gesture seemed a bit feminine to him. It was too soft to be his father and too loving to be a recently met friend, and yet… Dean's eyes shot open to find Brian smiling down at him in a way that was scarily familiar but he couldn't place it.

"Brian, what…?"

"It's okay now, Zachary. Mommy's here." Brian's eyes flashed black.

A damp cloth was placed over his mouth and nose. Dean's eyes widened and he tried to pry the hand from his face. Brian pinned his good arm down without much difficulty, and two small hands reached across his body and held his injured arm still.

"Shhh… Don't struggle, Zack. You're just going to hurt yourself. Everything is okay now." Sam smiled, but it didn't really look like Sam. The smile didn't reach his eyes like it usually did. It was Sam, but it wasn't _Sam_.

As Dean's body forced him to inhale, he felt a burning sensation at the back of his throat and his pulse was speeding up. He was starting to feel exhilarated to the point of being drunk. _What the hell is this shit?_

He glanced out of the corner of his eye towards his father's bed. Why wasn't he waking up? Why wasn't he trying to help him? Horrible realization overcame Dean like a sucker punch. All the pieces fell into place. That thing in the road didn't just run in front of the ambulance, it flew in through the open window. Damn it, how did he miss the signs? Because the spirit remained dormant until now. It waited for the opportune moment; being when the Winchesters were asleep and most vulnerable.

Even Sammy, or rather Peter, had known they weren't alone anymore. His words floated back through Dean's mind… _We're okay now, Zack_. And that smile… The smile of a little boy reunited with his mommy.

Brian, or the spirit, had been planning this from the moment it entered its host. It had brought Brian's med kit into the house with the intentions of drugging John so he wouldn't try to stop it. That must have been why it offered to make the drinks earlier. This whole thing was a set up…

It was Dean's last thought before he was consumed by the darkness.

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Dean felt like shit. His head was throbbing and his stomach was rebelling. How much did he have to drink last night? He couldn't remember. He wasn't sure he really wanted to. His bed felt so comfortable, he just wanted to sink back into the pillow and disappear. He had just had one hell of a nightmare though and didn't want to fall back into it.

Maybe if he turned onto his stomach, it would lessen the headache. He figured it was worth a shot. He tried to get enough energy to roll over but it just wasn't happening. If he could only block the damn light coming in through the windows…

Attempt number two: cover eyes with elbow. Again, a failed attempt. In fact, he couldn't even get his arms to move. _Crap. Must have cut off the circulation in my sleep again. Alright, I give!_

He cracked his eyes open, letting the shadows of the swaying trees on the ceiling sooth his frustration. _Wait, trees? The hotel is right on the road…_

He tried to move his arms again and this time he heard a metallic clinking with each shift. _That can't be good_.

"Dad?" he called out, but it was barely more than a whisper. His throat felt a bit raw as though he had gone to a rock concert last night and was screaming along with the lyrics. That would also explain the splitting headache. But unless he took a kinky chick home with him…

He craned his neck upwards and, just as he suspected, he found that his hands were both cuffed to the bed frame. _Shit. That'll really help my shoulder heal…_

Suddenly, he remembered a hand over his mouth. A damp cloth making it hard to breathe. Brian smiling down at him and Sammy's little hands pinning his arm to the bed.

_Holy crap! What the hell is goin' on here?! _

He didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"Zack! You're awake!" Sam came bombing into the room and landed on the bed beside Dean's hip.

_Just play it cool, Dean. _"Hey, buddy. What's goin' on? Why am I cuffed?"

"Mommy says you're sick, but she'll make you better soon. She says if we let you go, you might hurt yourself."

"Why would I do that? I'm fine, um… Peter. But my shoulder… I need you to uncuff me, man. It's really starting to hurt like this."

Concern flashed over the younger boy's face. "I'll go get Mommy. She'll fix it."

"Wait, wait, wait! Mom has a lot on her mind right now. If you can take care of it, it'll be a big help to her."

Sam paused, deep in thought. Then his face lit up.

"… I know! I'll get you some ice! That'll make it better!" He scampered off before Dean could get another word in. Dean threw his head backwards into the pillow in frustration.

_Lovely. Dad, please get here soon…_

TBC

More Brian/Spirit to come, as well as Sam/Peter. Can Dean convince Peter to let him go, or will he have to wait for John to come to the rescue? Or will his father be too late and Dean will officially become Zachary?! Stay tuned… and please review! Work is starting to pick up again, so it might take me a bit longer to upload now but I promise I will keep uploading as soon as I can!


	13. Modern Medicine

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

John groaned into his pillow as he clawed his way back to consciousness. _Please, God, tell me I didn't get drunk again last night… Please tell me I didn't hurt my boys any more than I already have._

There was only one way to find out and it required lifting his spinning head. He sat up slowly, shaking his head to rid it of the cobwebs and only succeeded in making it spin faster. The pressure behind his eyes was turning into a full blown headache and he was not having a good morning so far.

He glanced over at the other bed and quirked an eyebrow when he saw it was empty. His boys knew better than to leave their beds unmade. Being a military man, he taught them precision. He'd remind them of it once he tracked them down. _Where the hell did they get off to at this hour?_

John glanced at the clock next to his bed and his stomach flipped. It was one in the afternoon. _How the hell did I sleep in so late?! Why didn't the boys wake me?_

He grumbled as he pushed himself out of bed and checked the bathroom, kitchen, and out front by the Impala. The boys never strayed far from sight without telling him where they were going or getting permission first. Something was wrong. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Dean's number. It went straight to voicemail. The same thing happened with Sam's.

He ran back inside and started tearing the room apart for clues as to where his boys might be. They wouldn't have gone after the spirit alone would they? John would ream them both if they had. Wait a second… Where was the medic? Wasn't he supposed to be on the couch? His ambulance was gone too. Must have taken off to get back to work this morning. Would he have taken the boys with him? Brought them to social services? _Oh god…_

He found Brian's med kit by the kitchen table. _What the…? _Right on top was a bottle of sedatives. _That son of a bitch! _That would explain the brain fog and half-a-day-siesta.

John patted his pockets until he found Brian's card and punched his number into his cell phone. His mind was reeling as he listened to the phone ring once… twice… three times… then switched to voicemail. "Damn it!" He grabbed his keys off the table and rushed back out to the Impala. If this man thought he could interfere with the tightly knit family, he had another thing coming. _Over my dead body._

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Dean was pulling against the cuffs with all his strength. He could feel them cutting into his thin wrists but blocked out the pain. It was a bit harder to block out the feeling of blood dripping down his forearms. _This is so not cool._

He jumped when Sam flew through the bedroom door again, this time carrying a bunch of ice wrapped in a towel. "Here you go, Zack!"

"Thanks, dude."

Sam gently placed the towel against Dean's shoulder who hissed as the cold bit into his skin. He was grateful when the burning slowly began to ease into a numbing chill.

"Listen, bro, I need you to help me out here, okay? Mom hasn't been feeling well. I need to take care of her, but you have to take the cuffs off first. Understand?"

"Mom is fine, Zack. You're the one who's sick."

"No! Seriously, man, _I'm_ fine! Whatever mom told you about me wasn't true."

"She says you're… possessed," Sam whispered out, sounding scared.

"Possessed?" Dean couldn't hold in the small chuckle that burst from his lips. _Talk about irony…_ "Dude, you _know_ me. Do I seem possessed to you?"

"You're not actin' like yourself, Zack."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sammy, please…" _Shit!_

Sam's eyes widened. "Mom!"

Brian came barreling into the room, looking alarmed and quite frankly, motherly.

"Peter? What is it?"

"Zachary woke up but he's still sick. He called me Sammy!"

Dean desperately tried to correct the situation. "Peter, I was just messin' with you, bro. Of course I know who you are."

Brian strode over to the bed and placed a cool hand against Dean's warm forehead. Dean tried not to pull away even though all his instincts told him to. That would be a huge give away.

The hand moved to his cheek. "You do still feel warm, sweetheart." He grabbed Dean's forearms and tutted when he saw the blood dripping down them from his sliced wrists. "You mustn't struggle, Zachary. You will only cause yourself more damage."

"Sorry… mom." Boy did that sound all kinds of wrong!

"Peter, get the alcohol for me and some clean fabric. We'll have you all patched up in no time, my son."

Dean's heart sped up. _Please undo the cuffs, please undo the cuffs…_

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John made it back to the hospital in record timing. He stormed down the hallways until he reached the main desk.

"Can I help you, sir?" drawled a hardened nurse from behind the counter, clearly used to desperate and demanding family members, and she wasn't going to take any shit from John.

"I need to speak with an EMT who works in this area. At least, he was here yesterday. His name is Brian."

"Brian what, sir?"

"I dunno. Here's his cell phone number. I tried to get in touch with him earlier today but he must have it off or somethin'. I really need to speak with him, now. It's urgent."

"I can try to page him down here, but if he's not in the hospital I don't know what to tell you. Have a seat and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you."

John was too tightly wound to sit so he paced around the waiting room. He heard the page go out over the intercom. All he could do now was wait and hope his boys were still alright.

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Sam came back with the requested items and placed them on the table next to Dean's bed. He also had a bowl filled with what appeared to be water, and a towel.

"When will Zack get better, Mommy?"

"When he repents for his evil deeds."

That statement completely threw Dean off. "Wait, what?"

"You have clearly offended our God, child, and you must pay for your sins. I will do what I can to help purge you of your evils."

Brian dropped the towel into the bowl of water, then lifted it and wrung it out. He began wiping at the drying blood that had dripped down Dean's forearms.

"Whoa, slow down there. I think the cross on my chest changed my _evil ways_ just fine."

The water was warm and soothing, but the cool air in the small room caressed Dean's moistened skin and gave him goose bumps that raced up and down his arms and to the rest of his body. He shivered involuntarily, and Sam… no, _Peter_, tugged the sheets up a bit higher on Dean's chest. Dean shot him a grateful look before his attention was drawn once again to Brian.

"It's a start, but it just isn't enough or you would be better by now. God is still displeased with you." Brian gently patted the cloth against the shallow slices in Dean's wrists.

No matter how creeped out he was, Dean felt himself relax a little from the spirit's motherly ministrations. It was this love and affection that Dean had missed out on as a child. If he wanted to, he could close his eyes and pretend it really was his mother caring for him. But he wasn't a fool. He knew the difference between reality and dreams, and though he preferred the latter, he was taught to live in reality. There was no way he was taking his eyes off of the spirit; not even for just a second.

He wished he had changed his mind when Brian pulled a lancet out of the drawer next to Dean's bed and placed it by the bowl.

"W-what are you gonna do with that?" It was getting harder and harder to control his shivering. _Fever must be going up…_

Brian paused and stared down at him for a few seconds before answering. "Nothing. _Yet_. Just setting it aside in case the time comes where it is necessary."

Dean swallowed hard but did not give any other outward signs of fear. He continued to watch Brian's every move, wanting to know what was coming before it did.

Brian poured alcohol onto the same towel he had been using earlier, ripped it down the center, and draped one half over Dean's right wrist who gritted his teeth as it made the cuts burn. Instead of removing it, Brian tied it tightly around the wounds, then proceeded to do the same with the left wrist.

Brian felt Dean's forehead again before explaining. "Your skin is already aflame. The alcohol will purify your blood. Now, no more struggling from you."

"Mommy, he said his shoulder hurted. Can we let that arm go?"

Apparently, Peter's puppy dog eyes weren't as strong as Sammy's. "I will not take that risk. Your brother is not well. However, I can make a poultice that may ease the pain. Watch over your brother, Peter."

"Yes, ma'am."

Both boys watched as Brian left the room. Sam turned apologetically towards his brother who winked back to help comfort the boy. "'s alright, kiddo. Thanks for tryin'."

"Mommy will make you all better, Zack. You'll see."

"Yeah… That's what I'm afraid of… Hey, Peter? What year is it?"

Peter looked puzzled and worried at his brother's question. "Don't you know? It's 1836." He placed his small hand on Dean's forehead, mimicking his mother's motions. "It'll be alright, Zack. Mommy's medicine will make the pain go away."

_Sucks for me that Advil doesn't exist yet…What the hell did they have for medicine in the early 1800s? This aughta be interesting._

TBC

Poor Dean… Please review! Believe me, I have researched early 1800s medicine, so the spirit's remedies are not my own creation! They were really used to cure illness, even though it had more negative effects than positive. Thank God for modern medicine!


	14. No Pain, No Gain

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam gets hurt from an unexpected attack and John turns to the bottle, then takes his anger out on Dean who is already blaming himself. Teen!chester story. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive.

John approached the front desk for the third time in twenty minutes, thoroughly pissing off the nurse behind it.

"Oh, for goodness sake… HE'S NOT HERE! And neither are your children. I don't know what to tell you, mister, but I know I can't help you so if you don't mind, there are plenty of patients here that I _can_ help. Now, if you'll please step to the side…" She waved him away and focused her full attention on the man standing behind him with a clearly broken wrist.

"Well what the hell am _I_ supposed to do then?" John growled over the man's shoulder.

"You want my advice? Go home. Maybe your boys will be waitin' for you there."

_Home…_

Suddenly Sam's words from the night before came to him. _We live on the other side of the park_. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start. He could not figure out how Brian was involved in all this, but if Sam was determined to go "back home," Dean would be right there with him to protect him. If he was going to find his boys, he needed help. He needed Bobby. John pulled out his cell phone as he ran back down the hallway towards his waiting Impala.

_Hang on boys. Dad's comin'._

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Dean knew his plan could easily backfire like it had last time, but he needed to get through to Sammy before it was too late. He obviously wasn't breaking out of the cuffs without help.

"Hey, Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember what we were doin' earlier today? Or last night?"

Sam scratched his head, apparently in deep thought. "Mommy came and saved us from the strangers."

"You didn't recognize those strangers at all?"

Peter shook his head.

"Little dude, that incredibly tall and intimidating guy was our dad. His name's John."

"No, our daddy died when we was babies, Zack. His name was Paul. That fever's messin' with your head."

"Lucky Charms ring a bell? Cell phones? Television?"

"You're talkin' crazy now. Mommy will make the demons go away. I just want my brother back."

"Yeah, you and me both, kiddo," Dean mumbled under his breath.

Brian's soft humming announced his return as he carried a new bowl into the room and set it down on Dean's bedside table. The smell made Dean instantly nauseas.

"Ugh… What the hell is that? Please tell me you're not gonna make me eat that crap…"

"Of course not, Zachary. This is a plaster. It's applied to the skin to relieve pain and hopefully fever."

"What's in it?" He wasn't so sure he really wanted to know, but he asked before he could stop himself.

"Bread, milk, Rosemary, and cow manure," Brian answered matter-of-factly.

Dean blanched. "Hold up… What was that last one? You tellin' me that it smells like crap cause it _is _crap?"

"It is good for consistency."

"'It is _good'_ for _infections_! Get that shit away from me!"

"Stop being difficult. This is for your own well being."

"You know, I'm gettin' really sick of hearin' that…"

With his hands cuffed above his head, he had no way of preventing Brian from pushing his shirt up to his chin. Any struggling would just help the spirit achieve its goal faster. That didn't mean he had to put up with it quietly.

"I swear to God, if you put that shit anywhere _near _my skin, I will blast your ass full of rock salt myself!"

Sam took a few steps backwards in shock and Brian's face went through a myriad of expressions before landing on anger.

"Blasphemy! Demon, be gone from this child! Give my boy back to me!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like _that's_ really gonna work."

Brian scowled. "I will try every remedy I know of before I let you win. I will have my Zachary back."

"Don't you get it, lady? Your son is gone! He's not comin' back! You are _dead_! And I'm guessin' your kids are too judging by your shitty bedside manner… I don't know what you did to my brother, but I'm gonna get him back and we're gonna end this thing once and for all."

Sam looked to Brian for comfort. "What is he talkin' about, Mommy?"

"Don't you fret, Peter. This demon speaks nothing but lies. Ignore what he says, understand? He is merely trying to get free of his bindings."

Sam nodded and Dean groaned in frustration once again. Two against one in handcuffs just wasn't fair. He lifted his head as he felt something cold and pudding-like touch his chest. Brian had dipped two fingers into the paste and was now spreading the foul concoction over Dean's skin. _Well this is a disease waitin' to happen…_

"Just keep it away from any open wounds, okay? That's all I ask."

"A demon's request means nothing to me."

"Then how about a child's? Your boy may be in here with me, and if you put that stuff near one of my cuts, you could kill us both. You really wanna take that chance?" It was a harsh card to play, but Dean didn't have much choice at this point.

Brian didn't say a word. He continued to spread the plaster over Dean's chest, abdomen, and the sides of his ribs but heeded Dean's warning and avoided open wounds. _Thank God for small favors._

Luckily he wasn't lying on his stomach or she would have used that crap on his torn up back and there was bound to be infection that way. Plus he didn't think he could stand any more pressure against his ribs right now. The pain pills had definitely worn off a while ago and there was no masking the pain that throbbed through his back.

Finally, the bowl was empty and the spirit sat back a bit, admiring its work.

"Ya done now?" Dean drawled, trying to sound bored instead of nervous.

"Hardly. The process has only just begun."

"That's what I was afraid of…"

"I will not stop until I have my Zachary back."

"Guess I better get comfortable then."

Brian stood once more and headed back into the kitchen with the empty bowl.

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Once Bobby hung up with John, he jumped into his truck and hit the road. He was only a few hours out and it was obvious from his friend's tone that John needed his help. The boys were in trouble, and that never sat right with Bobby. They were both like sons to him, and he'd be damned if he didn't do everything within his power to reunite the small family.

John hadn't told him much. Something about an ice cream spirit near a park or something… To be honest, he was having trouble paying attention when he heard the anger and fear in John's voice. He had grabbed a few books off his shelves that might be useful and a few charms as well, just in case. John didn't seem to have much of a lead just yet, but they would work it all out once they met up.

_I'm comin', boys. Hang in there._

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Brian returned with a mug full of something hot enough to be steaming.

"Please tell me that's hot chocolate…"

"It will help you heal."

"So that's a no?"

"Just drink it."

"Nah, I think I'm good, thanks. Had enough of your nasty blends already."

"That was not a request."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "What, are you channeling my dad or somethin'?"

"Your father died a long time ago. Now drink." Brian sat on the bed beside Dean, mug poised above his head.

"Looks a little hot. I think I'll wait till it cools if it's all the same to you."

Apparently, the spirit didn't have time for Dean's games anymore. Brian grabbed Dean's chin with inhuman strength, tilting his head back and forcing his mouth open by digging his fingertips into Dean's cheeks. Dean began thrashing wildly, trying to throw Brian off the bed. The mug was slowly being lowered towards his mouth and there was nothing Dean could do to avoid it. He really hated this being helpless crap.

The scalding fluid began to drip onto his tongue. He could taste sugar mixed with vinegar and something he didn't recognize at all. Needless to say, it was disgusting. He tried to spit it back out but Brian covered his mouth and Dean had no choice but to swallow it or suffocate. He coughed and spluttered as it burned the entire way down his throat and into his stomach which immediately began to protest.

Brian stood and placed a small bucket by Dean's head. He suddenly understood what the purpose of the mixture was; to literally purge his system of evil. _At least it wasn't a laxative…_ He had a sickening feeling that in a while he'd be wishing it were the latter.

The mixture didn't take long to do its job. Dean's stomach was clenching painfully and doing back flips in his abdomen. Lying down wasn't helping either. He swallowed convulsively as he felt his stomach acids burning their way up his throat. There was no stopping the foul mixture from doing its job though.

Dean used his left foot to push off the mattress and turn his body just enough that he was positioned over the bucket. He made it there just in time as the meager contents of his stomach made a reappearance. His muscles were aching and sweat was beading across his skin. Pain wracked his entire body as he tried to fight against the herbal ipecac.

"What the hell did you do to me?" he demanded hoarsely through gasps and wretches.

"I want my Zachary back, and I will get him. You cannot have his body."

_Oh hell no! __**My**__ body, and I am so keepin' it! Good ole Zack can have my stomach right about now though… _Dean groaned pitifully, fighting against the nausea and wondering how long it was going to last.

TBC

Soooo sorry for the long wait, guys! I've been really busy lately with pre-prod work and I was away for a long weekend so I haven't had time to write. Hope you guys liked it, and please review! By the way, I have also changed my settings to allow for direct messaging if any of you want to get in touch with me that way. Oh, and good luck to the boys as they start filming season 5!! Hopefully Kripke won't be as cruel to them as I tend to be in my stories, but who am I kidding? It's Kripke! He lives to torture them!


	15. Hopes Dashed

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

This chapter is dedicated to Miss Dassy! Welcome to the fanfic party, hun, and thanks for all the support!

Dean was burning up and he knew it. His body was trying to fight off too much at once and it was quickly draining his energy. Worse than that, he hurt like hell. _EVERYWHERE_.

He was sure he tore all the muscles in his abdomen, and his stomach and throat were on fire. He also couldn't stop shaking, which was making his limbs ache as well. And on top of that, he had been forced to roll onto his bad shoulder to reach the bucket and it was sending bolts of agony up his arm which was already full of pins and needles from being cuffed over his head. He could really use some more ice on it right about now. Overall? Not a good day for Dean Winchester.

Sam and Brian popped in and out of the room on occasion to check on him but they mostly stayed away and let the medicine run its course. When Dean finally felt a reprieve, he painfully sprawled out on his back again, too tired to keep himself on his side. A pitiful moan of exhaustion escaped his lips before he could prevent it. Apparently Peter had bat-like hearing because he came ambling into the room within seconds.

"Zachary? You okay?"

"Been better, dude," he groaned.

Sam walked over to the bed and placed a hand against Dean's over-heated cheek.

"You're hotter than a kettle! Mom says when people get a bad fever they have to sweat it out." Sam grabbed a bunch of blankets from the closet and began laying them on top of Dean.

"Huh? No, Peter, you'll just make it worse by doin' that. Take 'em off."

"Mommy knows best, Zach. She's always taken good care of us."

"Oh, yeah… I feel _sooo _much better now than I did before thanks to mom's special remedies…"

Sam beamed and Dean sighed. _I guess sarcasm didn't exist in the 1800s… Fantastic._

When Dean's shaking increased, he knew his body was absorbing the added heat and his fever was increasing even more. Unfortunately for him, the more he shook, the more blankets Sam piled over him.

Everything seemed to be working against the elder brother. The layered blankets were too heavy and he was too weak to be able to kick them off. His last hope was getting through to his brother. _What have I got to lose?_

"Sammy, I need you, little brother. Please. I need you to come back to me. You're not Peter. You're my favorite geek and lord knows how, but I'm one of the few people on this planet that can put up with your bitching, so please… I don't ask you for much, but I'm askin' for this. Snap out of it, Sammy."

Sam paused, still holding the last blanket in his arms, and stared down at Dean with a curious expression on his face. Maybe even a slight glint of recognition. Dean's heart leapt.

Sam shook his head and blinked hard a few times, then gently patted his brother's abdomen and laid out the last blanket. "Get some rest, Zach. You'll feel better in the morning." He turned and headed back out to the small kitchen and didn't see the tear that streamed down the side of Dean's face as he watched his brother walk away when he needed him the most.

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Bobby barely made it out of his car before John was practically pushing him back into it.

"Thanks for comin', Bobby, but we don't have time to chit chat. You mind drivin'?"

"Well hello to you too, John. Get in."

The incredibly stressed father ran around to the passenger side and climbed into the truck.

"You know where we're goin' by any chance or are we wingin' it?"

"Somewhere on the other side of the park. We'll knock down every damn door if we have to."

"Well that'll be subtle. I drive, you talk."

In between giving Bobby directions, John explained the last few days in the greatest detail he could remember.

"So… What? You think this Brian guy took Sam and Dean?"

"Maybe. He didn't show up for work today and he and my boys all disappeared from the motel room together. I know he's behind it somehow, I just don't know why."

"You think he's possessed or somethin'?"

"He sent us off the road near the ice cream stand while drivin' back to the motel. Said he saw somethin' in the road. Maybe the spirit the boys met in the park sensed us comin' and possessed Brian to get to them."

Bobby took a second to phrase his next thought carefully. John was walking a very thin rope right now and the last thing Bobby wanted to do was push him over. That wouldn't end well for anyone. "I know you're gonna hate me for this, but don't you think we should do some research on this spirit before we get in over our heads?"

"We don't have time for that, Bobby! It's had my boys for an entire day now! Who knows what it's been…" _doing to them._

"I understand that. It's just… What if it's more than a spirit? You don't have any concrete facts right now. You're just reachin' for answers. We don't want to barge in half-cocked with no proper defenses. It's hard as hell, but we need to treat this just like any other hunt and you know it. Otherwise, we'll put the boys in more danger. Did you get any hits on the ambulance yet?"

John sighed to get control of his frustration and wiped a hand over his face. "Yeah, I tracked it down about three blocks from the hospital. They must have lifted another car or walked."

"You think they'd go willingly with him?"

"I dunno. Maybe if they didn't know he was possessed. Dean trusts him, maybe too much. And Sam… Well, Sam's not exactly himself lately. The way Dean explained it, the spirit was lookin' for her two sons, Peter and Zachary. Sam thinks he's Peter now thanks to whatever the bitch did to him, and maybe it did the same thing to Dean, or it knocked him out like it did me. Guess we won't know till we find them."

Bobby could sense the barely contained anger in the other man's voice. "We _will_ find 'em, John. We'll get the boys back."

"Damn right."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean's fever had reached great enough heights that he was becoming delirious. His vision was swimming in and out of focus to the same beat his head was pounding to, his mouth and throat were incredibly dry and he seriously needed a tic tac right about now. He allowed his eyes to drift shut because the blurry room was making his stomach flip again.

He had finally stopped shivering, which in retrospect was probably a bad thing, but at the moment, he was downright grateful. He was on the edge of falling asleep when he felt a cold hand against his forehead and leaned into it without thinking.

"D-dad…?" he grumbled, cracking his eyes open enough to see a blurry figure in front of him.

"It's mom, sweetheart." Except, "mom" sounded a lot like a dude.

_Ah, crap. _Dean let his eyes slide shut again.

"Go 'way…" he slurred, too exhausted to put much effort into speaking at the moment.

He felt her pull back the confining layers of blankets and it suddenly became easier to breathe.

"You're drenched in sweat, child."

"No shit."

He could hear what sounded like sloshing water in a bucket but couldn't be bothered to crack his eyes open again to investigate. The next thing he knew, he was deluged by ice cold water as an entire cascade rained down on his head and body. _That _woke him up.

"What the hell?!" He jerked against the cuffs, cursing as they bit into the wounds that were already there, and spluttered, choking up some of the water. This sent him into a coughing fit that wreaked havoc on his broken ribs and torn abdominal muscles. "Oh, god…"

And there was the incessant shaking again… Lucky him. As much as he hated to admit it, Dean was on the edge of giving up. Sam still didn't recognize him and his father was clearly taking his sweet time tracking him down. All was seeming pretty damn lost, and he couldn't take it much longer.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After a lot of debating and yelling, Bobby finally convinced John to go with him to the local library to research their latest foe. Three hours later, Bobby paused while looking through death records of the early 1800s.

"John? Think I got somethin'."

John looked up from his stack of old papers looking desperate for good news. "What is it?" He made his way to his friend's side and read where Bobby pointed.

"_Died on Thursday morning of a severe illness lasting six days, brothers Zachary and Peter Brown, ages 9 and 5; sons of the late Mr. Paul Brown and widow Amelia Brown. After losing her husband only two years prior, widow Amelia Brown is devastated by her tremendous loss, though she states her children are 'finally in the hands of God now.'"_

"What year is this from?"

"1836."

"Sounds about right to me. Find anything else on the mother yet?"

"Now that we have a name, it should be easier to track her down. Give me a sec…"

He continued to flip through the records for another five minutes before finding what he was looking for.

"_Mrs. Amelia Brown, sole survivor of her small family, died from an illness of the mind less than two weeks after the deaths of her two young boys, Zachary and Peter Brown. May their spirits meet again in Heaven."_

"So much for that last part. 's far as I can tell, she's still lookin' for 'em," Bobby grumbled. "An' now we got some crazy Victorian spirit on our hands that wants the boys to call her own."

"Over my dead body. Got an address or anything?"

"Just the church the ceremony took place at."

"Is it on the other side of the park by any chance?"

"Accordin' to this local map, it's about two streets over from the park."

"Let's go then."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean was exhausted, both mentally and physically. He was so close to giving in to the darkness, but he still managed to jump when two strong hands grabbed his shoulders.

_Dad! You finally found me!_

He forced his eyes open, anxious to see his rescue taking place. Anxious to see his father again. Anxious to get the hell off this soaking wet and hard as a rock bed.

His hopes were dashed the second his eyes cracked open and he saw Brian sitting beside him yet again. Dean had to fight back the tears of disappointment and just barely succeeded.

"_Now _what the hell are you doin'?" he bit out, utterly tired of this game.

Brian's trained fingers were carefully kneading through his tense muscles, being very careful of his wounded shoulder.

"Countering the shock to your body from the cold water. The water will help bring your fever down, but it will increase the shaking. A massage can also relax the body and make it easier to expel the demon within."

"If you were a hot chick, I probably wouldn't complain about the whole massage and sponge bath thing, but seriously dude, if you don't get your freakin' hands off me right the fuck now I'm gonna kill you and enjoy it."

"Calm yourself, child. I promise you will be healed soon."

Dean wanted to throw up again as Brian's hands slowly made their way down his chest. He was at least grateful that the water had washed away the majority of the plaster and the smell of it wasn't so putrid anymore.

Brian seemed completely oblivious to Dean's smoldering anger and embarrassment as he continued to the boy's sore abdomen and the sides of his ribs. Dean winced, but only once. He was stronger than that and he knew it.

"That's far enough, thanks," he ground out between clenched teeth.

"You seem to be getting stronger already. Excellent." Brian patted him affectionately on the chest before rising and making his way to the door. "Peter will be in shortly to clean you up a bit. I'll also have him bring in some bread."

"Not hungry." Dean's stomach betrayed him at the thought of bread and it growled loudly.

"Demons are never hungry, but it appears my Zachary is." Brian smiled before leaving.

Dean rolled his eyes. _Thank God I was born in the twentieth century._

TBC

Please review! Hope everyone had a great 4th of July weekend!


	16. Sammy

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

Sam entered the room silently with a bowl of water and fresh towels. Apparently he thought Dean might have fallen back asleep. _Fat chance…_ He put the items he was carrying on the bedside table and finally looked at his brother.

"Oh. You're awake."

"Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. What's goin' on now?"

"Mom wants me to fix you up a bit. You're startin' to smell."

"No, really? Might that have somethin' to do with the crap smeared all over my chest? Just a thought…"

Sam dipped the towel into the water and began washing the foul mixture from Dean's body. Thankfully, this water was much warmer than the bucketful had been.

"Hey, Zach? What did you do to make the gods so angry?"

"Little man, I've done a lot of shit in my life, but nothin' except for genes and the Winchester attitude made me the way I am. God's got nothin' to do with it."

"But Mom says you're actin' funny cause you're bein' punished for sins."

This conversation was getting old fast. "What do _you _think, bro?"

"I think you're still in there somewhere. I can see it in your eyes. And once Mommy cures you, things will go back to normal again."

Though he knew the boy before him was not entirely Sammy, Dean couldn't help but feel more relaxed with him by his side. He watched as Sam wrung out the towel once more and continued his gentle ministrations.

"The demon is gone, Peter. It's me, Zachary. I missed you, little brother. What do you say we go for a walk? Just the two of us."

Sam tilted his head to the side and regarded Dean warily. Dean smirked, recognizing the face as the one Sam tended to have while trying to solve difficult math problems. Usually, he'd come to Dean for help on the really tricky ones and Dean would give him the same patented smirk he was wearing now, letting Sam know it was okay to ask for help and that big brother would willingly provide it.

Then Sam broke into a wide, toothy grin. "It _is _you! But Zach, you're still unwell. We can't go outside until your fever breaks."

"I'm fine, Peter. Just got the chills. Undo these cuffs and we'll take off. I promise we won't go far."

"Okay then. I'll go get the keys from Mommy."

"Hang on! You have to sneak the keys if you can, Pete. Mom won't let us out this late. You know that. Don't get caught."

Sam nodded, finished gently scrubbing Dean's abdomen clean, then took the bowl and towel back into the kitchen.

Maybe all was not lost for Dean after all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

John and Bobby pulled into the church parking lot, and with a bottle of holy water stashed on each of them, they headed inside to see if they could get anymore useful information.

A pastor was making the rounds, putting all the books back in their compartments. He looked up as the two strangers approached him.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

John took the reins first.

"Hey there, Padre. We were hopin' you could help us out with somethin'. You see, we're researchin' some family history, and one of our ancestors from the early 1800s used to live in this area and go to this church. You wouldn't happen to know the local history of this town, would you?"

"Not much I'm afraid. I've heard some stories that have been passed down through the years, but I don't know if I can be much help in that area."

"Any chance you've heard of a woman by the name of Amelia Brown? She was very religious and when she died, the service took place in this church."

"Amelia Brown… As luck would have it, she happens to be a local legend. The poor woman suffered a tremendous loss. First her husband passed away, then her two little boys. I honestly don't remember what happened to her husband, but the children died of smallpox. People lived by a different mentality in the Victorian Age. Many believed that illness was caused by sin and therefore could be cured by repentance or with crude medical care. They didn't have medicine like we do now, so their methods tended to be a bit more barbaric. The story goes that when the boys became ill, she did everything in her power to heal them and more or less drove them to an early grave. Instead of blaming her loss on a lack of antibiotics, she thought she was being punished by God as well; perhaps even that her whole family had been cursed. So she took her own life in hopes of being reunited with her lost loved ones. Very tragic story indeed."

"I can't even imagine what that kind of loss could do to a person." John's eyes had glazed over at the thought and he felt sympathetic towards Amelia. He knew what it had felt like to lose his wife and he didn't think that pain would ever truly leave him. If he had lost both of his boys on top of that, he would have lost all reason to live as well. The more he replayed the pastor's words in his mind, the more ill he felt. "What sort of medical procedures _did _they have back then?"

"Well, the more common ones tended to be poultices, purging the body with laxatives or emetics, sweating out the toxins, and worst of all, bleeding."

"Bleedin'?" Bobby's stomach dropped to the floor.

"Yes. It was common for a vein to be opened for extended periods of time in hopes that the 'bad' blood would be expelled from the body and clean blood would replace it. The only problem was they didn't do it with sterile equipment, and they didn't know when to stop. Many times they would bleed a patient until they passed out, or even worse, actually died. Oh, they also used blistering. They believed that the body could only hold one illness at a time, and therefore by burning the patient with a hot poker or acid they could destroy the original illness."

They needed to find Dean _now_.

"Any idea where Amelia used to live? We'd love to get a picture of the old house if it's still standing." John was finding it difficult to stay composed when all he wanted to do was find the damned spirit and tear it a new one if it hurt his boys, but he knew he had to stay in control for a bit longer.

"If the stories are correct, she lived and died in the white house on the corner, just passed the park. The place is pretty run down though. No one wanted to live there, believing the house to be diseased or cursed."

"Was she buried in the town cemetery?"

"No, actually. I believe she was cremated."

_Damn it._

"Thank you for your time, Pastor." Bobby and John shook the man's hand and headed for the door.

"May God be with you both," the Pastor called after them.

_I'd rather he be lookin' out for my sons._

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Dean could see through the window that night had fallen and if the spirit was a creature of habit, it would be heading off to bed soon. He found it amusing that a spirit would need to sleep, but as it didn't seem to realize it was dead, he supposed it was following the routine it had while living. If everything went according to plan, Sam was going to steal the key from Brian once the spirit was asleep and then free Dean.

He was beginning to doze off himself, listening to the lonely cricket chirping in the corner of the room, when footsteps on creaky floorboards roused him. He cracked his eyes open to find Sam creeping towards him, the keys held firmly in his right hand.

Dean's face brightened. Finally, things were looking up. "Nice move, kiddo. Now hurry up and undo the cuffs."

Sam nodded and went to work, jiggling the rusted key around in the lock trying to get it to spring open. Dean craned his head back and watched with bated breath, trying to stay patient.

"PETER!" The boys jumped as the harsh voice rang out across the small room. "What do you think you are doing? Back away from him right this instant!"

Sam cowered. "But Mom, he's all better now! The demon's gone!"

"The demon is merely tricking you, my son. Do not fall for its games. Come away from there."

Dean looked pleadingly up at his brother, praying that he would just turn the key a bit more and release the cuff to end his nightmare. To his great frustration, Sam simply hung his head, pulled the key back out of the lock, and made his way to his mother's side.

"Go to bed, Peter. I shall deal with you in the morning."

Sam gave one last glance back at his brother, then did as he was told. Brian strode up to the side of Dean's bed.

"Nice try, Zachary, but you are not well enough to be released."

Dean had had just about enough.

"My name is _Dean_ goddamn it! _DEAN_!"

Brian sighed in resignation.

"I see we have not cured you yet of your demons either. You leave me no choice then, child."

Dean watched warily as the spirit picked up the lancet it had left by his bedside earlier.

It was what Dean had been fearing since he first saw the small blade. He didn't pay much attention in school, but he knew a little something about old fashioned medicine, and it wasn't good.

Brian released Dean's bad arm and gently laid it down so his wrist was hanging over the edge of the bed. He placed an empty bowl on the floor directly beneath Dean's wrist.

"No. No no no… Please…" Dean tried to pull his arm back towards his body to protect it, or even better, to send a fist flying into the spirit's face, but after having his circulation cut off for so long and having a previously injured shoulder, he couldn't even curl his fingers into a fist. It remained limp, right where Brian had placed it.

Brian ran a soothing hand down the side of Dean's face. "Relax, my son. This will save your soul." He ran a finger over Dean's wrist gently, looking for the best vein to get the job done.

Dean barely felt the blade pierce his skin over the excruciating pins and needles that were starting to flood his arm as the circulation was fighting to come back. However, it was hard not to notice the heavy trickle of blood that ran down the sides of his wrist and the pattering of the drops landing in the bowl.

Sweat broke out across Dean's forehead at the pain flaring through his shoulder and arm and it took everything he had not to scream out in agony.

Brian used his left hand to massage Dean's upper arm, trying to ease the stabbing feeling as well as increase the blood flow. He used his right hand to trace over the cross still branded into Dean's chest, saying a soft prayer as he did so.

Dean threw his head back into the pillow and dug his heels into the mattress trying to counter the piercing pain spreading through his upper right side. He was actually glad the spirit had not released both of his arms at the same time because he was sure he would have passed out if he had pain like this in both of them.

He tried to focus on something, _anything _else, but his choices were limited. It was either focus on what the spirit was mumbling under its breath, or listen to the sound of his blood dripping from his body.

His father wasn't going to make it in time. He had lost. There was nothing left for him to do besides submit to his fate. Nothing else he could say, except…

"SAAAAAAMMMMMYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

TBC

Please please please review if you liked this chapter!


	17. Game Over

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

Sam sat quietly on his bed, fearing the punishment he would undoubtedly receive after almost letting the demon free. He had disobeyed his own mother, and that in and of itself was worth a good flogging. He had allowed the demon's slippery tongue to fool him, but it had sounded so much like his brother…

His brother, who was pleading in the other room. Sam covered his ears and began rocking back and forth on the rickety bed frame, making it squeak with each movement. _I just want my brother back… I want Dea…Zachary! Zachary? Who's Dean?_

Sam's mind was whirling at high speeds and he was having trouble keeping his thoughts in order. He knew his mother had terrible ways of curing possession, but there was nothing he could do about it. Zachary had to be fixed.

"_SAAAAAAMMMMMYYYYYYY!"_

Sam's head shot up and a protective nature more powerful than he had ever felt before flooded through him. Adrenaline spiked through his veins. _That name… It means something important…_

There was something nagging at the back of his mind, but the more he tried to focus on it, the harder it was to grasp. _Sammy, Dean, Sammy…_

"_Sammy! Run!" _Dean screamed from the other room, hoping against hope that maybe his brother could still make it out of here alive.

_Dean…_ And then it all clicked into place. Memories that had been forcefully restrained came flooding back. Sam squeezed his eyes shut as images burst through the mental binds that had been holding them hostage.

The park, the spirit screaming for her lost boys, his brother, _Dean_, telling him to run, Dean flying through the air into a tree, the gun on safety sealing their fate, the spirit's ice cold hands on his head, then agonizing pain quickly turned to silence and darkness.

Sam's eyes opened. He was back, and he needed to get to Dean.

_I'm comin' big brother._

SPN-SPN-SPN

Dean was starting to feel light-headed and dizzy. The room was swirling before him, all of the colors blending into odd shapes and patterns. He blinked heavily, but each time he opened his eyes, his vision became darker and darker. Terrified to give in to the darkness, he tried to keep his eyes open, but he was so tired. Maybe a short nap wouldn't hurt…

The steady dripping of his blood in the now overflowing bowl below was oddly comforting. It was a lulling sound he could focus on while his other senses failed him. This was the end. He had no strength left to fight. He had failed Sammy, and he had failed his father. He had lost his reason to live.

_I'm sorry, Sammy. I love you, little brother. Goodbye._

SPN-SPN-SPN

Sam slipped quietly out of his room and into the kitchen. _Salt, salt, salt…Where's the damn salt?!_

Finally, he found his condiment of choice in a cupboard. The container was just about full. _Perfect! Now all I need is a gun…_

Sam searched his, or rather _Peter's_, memory for where the household weapon might be stashed. _By the front door._

His fear was beginning to take over when he realized his brother had gone silent a few moments ago. That was never a good sign. Maybe he was already too late. _No! I'm going to save him!_

Keeping his eyes averted from the bed containing his brother's limp body, Sam tiptoed across the second bedroom doorway and made his way to the front door. _I could just run… Find dad and come back for Dean's bod… He is NOT dead, damnit! I won't fail him again! And I WON'T leave him behind._

Sam locked steady hands around the shotgun, cast his mind back to all of Dean's lessons, and checked to make sure it was loaded. He took out the two shotgun shells in the chambers and emptied the gunpowder out of them before refilling them with salt. He didn't have time to look for more casings. He had two chances, and he was going to make them count.

He paused outside of the bedroom door, his heart hammering in his chest. He dried his sweaty right hand on his pants before lacing his finger around the trigger. Determined not to repeat his previous mistake, he checked that the safety was off.

This was undoubtedly the hardest shot he had ever had to make. With the salt can in one hand, he would have to take the shot single-handedly, and he had to be extremely careful not to hit his brother. He would have put down the salt and gone back for it once the spirit disappeared, but there was no telling how long it would take her to manifest again.

Sam took in a steadying breath, released it slowly, and raised the gun in his right hand as he stepped silently into the doorway. Brian was still standing directly over Dean, whispering soothing comforts to the elder Winchester brother as he slowly faded. Sam only caught the very last part of the spirit's speech.

"Don't fight the darkness, child. Soon you will be gone, and I will have my Zachary again. I will _not_ lose him this time."

"That's funny, cause I won't lose _Dean_ either." Sam lined up the shot and inhaled as Brian turned to face him. When their eyes locked, Sam held his breath and pulled the trigger. The resulting BANG was the most satisfying sound he had ever heard.

Salt rained down on the floor and Brian fell to the ground with a loud thud. Sam was taken aback, expecting the spirit to vanish, not collapse. He had no idea who this man was but he wasn't going to hurt Dean ever again. Not if he could help it.

Sam raced to the bed, and though he wanted nothing more than to reach for his brother, he focused on securing the area like Dean and his father had taught him. He used the salt to make thick lines around the bed. As long as the spirit was indeed just that, it would not be able to cross.

As Brian began to stir, Sam leapt over the lines and onto the bed, careful not to land on his brother and cause him more pain. He still had the gun in his right hand and he trained it on the man as he rose from the floor, looking livid.

"Peter, you have been a very bad boy."

"I'm not your Peter! I'm _Sam_! And Dean is my family, not you. Stay back or I will shoot you again." It wasn't a threat; it was a promise. There was no fear in his voice now. Only determination.

The spirit began walking slowly towards the bed, his eyes cold and empty. Sam's stomach sank when he realized there were specks of blood blossoming on the man's shirt. This wasn't like any other hunt he had ever been on. Since when did spirits bleed? Since when did they not dissolve into dust when hit by salt?

He wasn't feeling so confident about his salt lines anymore.

SPN-SPN-SPN

"Can't this damn truck go any faster?" John demanded from the passenger seat, looking as though he were about to jump right out of the vehicle and run to his boys instead.

"We're almost there, John. You got a plan or what?"

"More or less."

"Well that's comfortin'. Mind lettin' me in on it?"

"You just get my boys out, understand? I don't care how you do it, just get it done. I'll take care of Amelia Brown."

"And what happens to this Brian guy?"

"If he lives, great. If not, he's an acceptable casualty."

"This ain't the war, John! This is an EMT who saves people for a livin'!"

"I know that, and I will try my best to keep him alive. But my priority is my family. Drive faster, or I'll take over."

Bobby punched the gas as much as he could without risking unnecessary trouble with the law.

SPN-SPN-SPN

Sam sat protectively by his brother, keeping his eyes glued to the other man. He only had one shot left. If the salt lines failed… Game over.

As Brian neared the salt, the pain began to show on his face. It was as though Sam had spread a river of acid around the bed. But what did the spirit care? It meant nothing to her if her host's feet got a bit burnt. She had more important things to worry about.

The spirit took one step over the salt line and Sam blasted it back a second time, emptying the gun and sending Brian to the floor once again. _He crossed! The evil man crossed the line!_

Sam was trembling now. He couldn't do this alone. He needed his father. He needed his brother. While the man was still on the floor, Sam finally turned his attention to his brother's still body.

"Dean?" he whispered, bottom lip quivering.

Dean's eyes were closed. His breathing was shallow and labored. His skin was on fire.

Sam reached out and placed two fingers against his brother's carotid artery. The pulse was slow and erratic, but it was there. He shook Dean's shoulder, trying to rouse him. There was no response.

"Hold on, Dean. I'll find a way to get you out of here."

Sam grabbed his brother's steadily bleeding arm and leaned it up against his thigh. It wasn't much, but the incline would help. He knew he needed to tie off Dean's wrist, but Brian was getting up again and he didn't have time to start looking around for clean fabric. The best he could do was keep the salt can in his left hand and use his right to put pressure against the brachial artery on the inside of Dean's arm.

Brian advanced once more, carefully stepping over the salt lines and making his way to the bed. All Sam could do was throw handfuls of salt and use his own body to protect his brother's. The salt brushed Brian back a little, but he was building up a resistance and continued to press forward. He reached out a steady hand, aiming for Sam's forehead.

"I _will_ have my boys back," he stated confidently.

Sam curled into a ball on top of Dean, shielding both of their heads from the spirit's mind warping abilities. _Someone please help us! Anyone!_

He jumped as the front door burst open, shards of wood flying in all directions. He risked a glance from underneath his arm and his heart soared. Help had come at last.

"Get the hell away from my boys."

TBC

Please review!


	18. Ready to Go Home

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

"Dad!" Sam moved to sit up, relief overriding his survival instincts.

"Stay down, Sam!" John shouted, and just as Sam ducked back down, John let off a blast of rock salt in Brian's direction. It didn't have quite the result he had been hoping for, but it was enough to distract the spirit and get to the boys. "Bobby! Get them outta here!"

Bobby came racing into the room, shotgun at the ready. John kept him covered as his friend reached the bed.

"Let's go, son." Bobby held out a hand to Sam and the boy gratefully took it.

"But, Dean…!"

"I'll get him. You get to the truck. Don't stop, and don't look back. Now GO!" Bobby pulled Sam from the bed and gave him a gentle shove towards the door to spur him into motion. Sam did as he was told and raced out of the building, praying his family wouldn't be too far behind.

Bobby turned his attention to the elder brother. God, he was a mess. Pushing his feelings away, the family friend focused solely on getting the boy to safety. He pulled his lock-picking tools from his back pocket and freed Dean's other arm in seconds.

Bobby hoped to hell Dean was out cold because there was no painless way of carrying him out of the room, especially due to his size. Though he looked a bit thinner now than he had when he was taken, Dean was a well-built seventeen-year-old kid and he wasn't exactly short either so as much as he wanted to, there was just no way Bobby could gather the boy into his arms like he did when Dean was a child.

Bobby carefully took hold of Dean's left wrist and pulled the boy's limp body over his right shoulder into a fireman's carry, and with John laying down the necessary cover fire, he made his way to the door as quickly as possible, using his own body as a shield to protect his precious cargo.

The spirit was enraged and let out a blood-curdling scream of fury as it was blasted backwards again and kept from reaching its children. John stood in front of the doorway, blocking the spirit's exit.

"Just you and me now."

The spirit cocked its head to the side, sizing John up, then gave a rabid growl from deep within its throat. The eldest Winchester took half a step backwards as the spirit's eyes flashed with anger. He didn't like the deeply rooted insanity he saw in its face. It spoke of great loss and of the terrible pain it must have suffered in solitude.

The crazed curl of its lips told John the spirit clearly had no problems with going through him if it meant getting its boys back once again. After all, he was only one human being, right?

Obviously the spirit hadn't met the legendary John Winchester before.

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Bobby carefully laid Dean out on the asphalt near the truck. As much as he wanted to run back inside to help John, he had made his friend a promise, and he would hold to it. Dean's wounds had been left unattended for long enough.

Sam stood only a few feet away seemingly in a frozen trance. It wasn't lost on him that he might very well lose the rest of his family within the next few moments. He kept his eyes glued on Dean. His brother had to wake up.

Bobby had grabbed the med kit from his truck and pulled out a roll of bandages that he hastily began to wrap around Dean's bleeding wrist. Once it was tied tightly, Bobby fastened his hand over the deep slice as well, putting as much pressure on the wound as he could without causing more damage. Dean didn't even wince.

"Come on, kid. Not like this. Winchesters are supposed to go down fightin', not handcuffed to a bed."

If Bobby had been expecting a laugh from the boy, he was sorely disappointed. What he got was one last sigh of breath and stillness.

"Don't you do this to me, boy! Breathe, damn it!"

Dean's skin was burning with fever. His eyes had rolled to the back of his head. The cross on his chest was bleeding profusely again for reasons unknown to the frustrated man standing over him.

Sam sank to his knees by his brother's side, silent tears dripping down his cheeks. "Dean…?"

"Stay back, Sam. Give him some room," Bobby ordered before starting CPR. He leaned down and placed his ear just above Dean's mouth, hoping against hope to hear the slightest displacement of air. Nothing.

Bobby tilted Dean's head back to open his airways more, then pinched the boy's nose closed and forced two of his own life-giving breaths into Dean's lungs. He listened again for any response, then lined his hands up over Dean's sternum and began compressions. He hoped that Dean wasn't fragile enough to result in more cracked ribs from the procedure, but if that was what it took to get him breathing again, the boy would just have to kick his ass for it when he woke up.

Sam sank back on his heels, watching Bobby do his best at bringing his brother back. _Please wake up, Dean. I need you, big brother. Please…_

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Just as he had promised Bobby, John did have a plan. Whether it would work or not was another story. He knew something was keeping the spirit here, and it sure as hell wasn't its bones. It had to be something in the house, and John didn't have time to figure out which object it was, so his plan was to burn the whole place to the ground. The only problem was, he needed to get Brian outside first if he was going to succeed in keeping the man alive. How do you persuade a deranged spirit to leave the only home it has ever known… without getting killed in the process or endangering his boys even more?

"Snap out of it, Brian! I know you can hear me in there. Fight back!"

"There's no Brian here," the spirit whispered in a sing-song voice, head tilting from side to side. "Mommy's home."

"Mommy's going on a vacation soon," John growled, pumping another load of rock salt into Brian's chest. He would have to come up with something more effective soon or he was screwed.

The spirit had had enough. Eyes blazing with hatred, she rushed at John, slamming him back first into the nearest wall. The breath rushed from his lungs, but John was pretty used to that feeling after all these years of being thrown around like a rag doll. He didn't miss a step. He pulled the iron pipe from the back of his jeans and swung it at Brian's head.

He hadn't expected the spirit to be faster or stronger than him. She latched tightly onto John's wrist with a bone-crushing grip. He gasped in pain and tried to bring his other hand up to break the contact but she pinned it to the wall with her other hand. _Shit…_

John threw his head forward and connected with Brian's but only succeeded in giving himself a huge headache. The spirit was unfazed, even enjoying itself.

"You have been a bad man, Paul Brown. You will not take my children away again."

"Wha…?" It took John a moment, possibly due to the fact he had just head-butted a spirit with a very thick skull, but then it clicked in his mind. _Paul Brown… Amelia's husband. We never did figure out how the man died…_

"They are _MY_ boys! You have no right to take them!" she screamed.

"Let me guess, he thought you were buckets of crazy? You killed him, didn't you?"

"God knew you were wrong! He struck you will an illness that couldn't be cured! You deserved what you got!"

"Bit harsh, don't ya think?" He struggled to break her grip on his wrist, trying to bring the pipe closer to Brian's head.

"But you couldn't just leave us alone, could you?! You had to take my boys away even in death!"

She screamed with rage and snapped John's wrist like a twig, forcing him to drop the pipe on the floor by his feet. He cried out in pain, then clamped his mouth shut, praying that his boys and Bobby didn't hear him outside. He couldn't risk them coming to his aid. This was his fight to end. The question was, who was stronger when it came down to the love they had for their children; the mother, or the father.

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Bobby's muscles were aching, but he was not ready to call it quits yet. He continued the compressions, then followed with two breaths. "Breathe, you stubborn ass!"

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Dean couldn't feel, hear, see, touch, or smell anything. He felt like he was floating through total darkness. The pain was gone and he felt lighter than he had in years. The weight on his shoulders seemed to have lifted. It was peaceful.

A small, bright light penetrated the darkness before him and was slowly growing in size. He was mesmerized by its beauty, unsure of what to make of it. He did not feel as though it meant him any harm. In fact, he sensed a strong protectiveness emanating from the light.

As it approached, his heart soared. It couldn't be, could it? "Mom?"

The light transformed, manifesting into the visage of a human being. Overwhelming sadness filled his chest when he realized it was a man. A man with black hair wearing a trench coat.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, his voice echoing through the surrounding darkness.

"Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the lord."

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Sam watched in silence as Bobby continued trying to bring his brother back to life. The boy heard his father's cry of pain and he was torn between staying by his brother's side and going to help his father. Bobby was so caught up in counting his compressions that he did not hear the other man's distress.

There was nothing he could do for Dean now. It might not be too late for his father though. Sam slowly rose to his feet and made his way to the open front door of the motel room. He glanced back only once towards his brother, then strengthened his resolve. He knew what he had to do. The spirit wanted a son. Sam could make a trade and at least save his father's life tonight. After all, he didn't want to live if he didn't have Dean.

He took a deep breath, then let out a sigh of resignation before stepping into the doorway. The spirit was standing menacingly over his father who was desperately trying to break her hold. _This is for you, Dean._

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John realized his mistake a little too late. He thought he had come into this fight prepared, but he hadn't counted on the spirit's fierce protectiveness and determination to get to his boys at any cost. She was immortal. He was not. His fear for his children had clouded his reason and because of that, he may have very well destroyed his family tonight. _At least Bobby has the boys. He will take care of them._

"Say goodbye, Paul," she demanded, inches from his face.

He locked eyes with her and could see his own imminent death staring back at him. He and the spirit were both startled when a small voice came from the open doorway just feet away.

"Mommy? I'm ready to come home now."

TBC

I'm so sorry for the long wait! I'm heading out to the San Diego Comic Con tomorrow, so I won't be able to get much writing done over the next week but I promise to post the next chapter as soon as I possibly can! Thanks again for all your support, and reviews are appreciated! I hope you all have a wonderful week.


	19. Hell to Pay

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

"Mommy? I'm ready to come home now."

John swung his head around towards the doorway and he paled instantly. _Please, not this again…_

"Sam, no! Get outta here! He's not your mother, do you hear me?! The spirit is messin' with your head again!"

Sam wanted to say goodbye to his father, but he knew he couldn't drop the façade. Not now. That would ruin everything. He knew his father wouldn't understand. He probably wouldn't accept it either. Sam hoped that John would be able to let go and move on for his own sake, and hopefully for Dean's as well… if he survived.

The spirit straightened, giving Sam a calculating stare and making his blood run cold. What if she could tell he was faking it?

"Peter?"

Sam nodded, afraid he might say the wrong thing and blow his cover.

The spirit shoved John harshly into the wall one more time before letting him slide down to the floor in a daze. She strode over to Sam, holding out her hand.

"Let's go get your brother, Peter. He's waiting for us."

"Yes, Mommy."

Sam slowly raised his hand, ready to take hers and accept his new life. _Goodbye, Dean._

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Dean blinked, trying to bring the stranger before him into sharper focus. The bright light was slowly starting to fade.

"Who are you?"

"Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the lord."

"Right… Look, pal, I don't have time for this. I ain't buyin' what you're sellin', so go find some other shmuck to ramble to. I have to make sure my family is okay."

"That is why I have been sent to you. When a being makes it to this stage of death, they are given a choice. They can either stay in this plane of existence until they become restless spirits, or they can cross over. I am here to tell you that you do not have the right to decide."

"Screw you, buddy! I'm no different from anybody else! If I have to become the same damn thing that I hunt in order to keep an eye on my dad and little brother, then that's exactly what I'm going to do! You can't have me!"

"You misunderstand me. It is not your time yet, Dean. You still have an important role to play. When you wake up, you will not remember me. But believe that you will serve a higher purpose before the end. You must go now, before it is too late." The angel gently touched a finger to Dean's forehead and once again the world around the boy faded to nothing.

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Bobby knew he should throw in the towel but he wasn't ready to call it quits. Had the person been anyone other than Dean, he would have probably cut his losses by now. But this boy meant everything to him, as did Sam. He knew he was never going to have children of his own, so these boys were the closest he was going to get. He refused to accept that Dean's life was going to end before it even began. Sam would never forgive him if he failed now.

He glanced up, afraid to see the blame in the younger Winchester's eyes, and his own heart skipped a beat. The boy was gone.

"Goddamn it… I swear it's like tryin' to tell a hungry lion it's not time to eat yet…"

_Now _what was he supposed to do? Go after Sam, or keep trying to bring Dean back? John was going to kill him.

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John struggled to stay conscious. His head was throbbing like crazy and the darkness was calling to him. It would be so easy to just give in to it. But Sam… Sam needed his help. He needed to get off his ass and get his son back. He could relax later.

He slowly rose to his feet, iron pipe clutched in his hand once again, and made his way stealthily towards Sam and the spirit. His heart clenched when he saw that Sam was about to take the spirit's hand.

"I don't think so," he growled.

The spirit whirled around, looking very pissed, and John slammed the pipe against the side of its head. Brian's body crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

"Find your own damn kids." John hit the spirit once more with the pipe for good measure.

"Dad!" Sam shouted in relief, throwing his arms around the man's waist in a tight hug.

"Sammy?" John, though completely confused at his son's abrupt change in persona, returned the hug as tightly as he could. "Is that really you in there?"

"It's me, dad. It has been since you showed up. Just thought you might be needing a distraction."

"Well you weren't wrong, but don't you _ever _do that to me again, understand? You shouldn't have come back in here. Where's your brother? Where's Bobby?"

Sam slowly released his grip and stared up at his father. "Uncle Bobby is trying to bring Dean back. I don't think he's gonna make it, dad."

"The hell he won't. Come on." John took Sam's hand into his own, needing the contact to keep him grounded. _Please don't take my boy from me today._

John and Sam hurried out into the parking lot to find a distraught Bobby at the end of his rope.

"Sam! Don't you _ever_ take off like that on me again, ya hear? John, I've tried the best I can, but he's just not comin' back this time."

"Outta my way, Bobby." John sank to his knees by his eldest's side, drawing on his reserved energy and preparing to continue where Bobby had left off. _One, two, three, four…_ "I'm not gonna lose him tonight. Drag Brian outside and torch the house. Should set the spirit free."

John breathed in to Dean's mouth twice, then started compressions again.

Bobby watched the other man sadly, knowing a lost cause when he saw it, then stood and went towards the house to find Brian. In his mind, he was merely giving John a chance to say goodbye to his son.

Sam sat on the ground next to his brother and father and took Dean's limp hand into his own. "I'm sorry I didn't save you in time, Dean." Tears streamed unchecked down the boy's face.

Two breaths, then compressions…

The mindless cycle was starting to wear John down too. But he refused to believe this was the end. Dean had his whole life ahead of him, and he had amazing potential, brains, and talent. This just wasn't fair.

"Give him back, damnnit!" John screamed, bringing his fisted hands down hard on Dean's bruised chest.

Sam knew it was probably wishful thinking, but he could have sworn he felt his brother's hand twitch within his own.

John dropped his forehead down against Dean's chest and dissolved into tears. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Wait a second… Was that a heartbeat? Couldn't be… He turned his head, placing his ear flat against Dean's chest. It was soft and erratic, but it was there. Thump… thump thump… thump…

"Dean…? Dean! Come on, kiddo, breathe…"

John forced another lungful of air into Dean's mouth and the most wonderful sound he had ever heard filled his ears. Dean began coughing. John grabbed the front of his son's shirt and pulled him into a sitting position, supporting his head in the crook of his arm.

"That's my boy! You did it, Dean! You found your way back. I've got you, kiddo. It's gonna be okay now."

Dean was gasping in as much air as he could, fighting the burning pain in his lungs. _God, suffocating sucks… _He fisted his hand in his father's shirt, trying to control the pain. His entire body was screaming in agony. There was a vague recollection of a safe place where there was no feeling. Only darkness. He wanted to return to that place, but his family needed him more right now. He'd just have to suck it up. That's what Winchesters did.

Sam wanted to throw his arms around his brother but was afraid to cause him more pain so he settled for tightening his grip on Dean's hand. He couldn't remember everything from when he thought he was Peter, but he knew his brother was sporting quite a lot of injuries. They needed that doctor guy to wake up and take care of him.

Sam turned to see that Bobby had already deposited Brian's unconscious body on the ground a few feet away from the front door and was just now reemerging with an empty gas can in one hand and a lit match in the other.

"Good riddance, you monster pain in the ass." He dropped the match and the gas ignited. Seconds later, the house was engulfed in brilliant flames that shot towards the sky.

Bobby dragged Brian closer to the Winchesters, then sank to the ground beside them and tousled Dean's hair. "Welcome back, kid. And if you ever stop breathin' on me again, I'll kill ya."

The small family sat in relative silence for a while, watching the flames quickly eat away at a piece of history; a piece of history that would not be forgotten by any of them anytime soon.

Bobby took up John's shotgun and had it aimed at Brian's body, waiting for the final result to see if John's plan had in fact worked. Sure enough, as the flames reached the second story, Brian arched upwards and black smoke flowed from his mouth, hovered for a second, then shot up towards the sky, blending in with the heavy smoke from the fire.

Brian scrambled backwards a few feet, looking sick. "What just…? Did I…? Was I…?"

"Yeah, you were possessed, ya idjit," Bobby informed him.

"You believe me now?" John added with an indignant scowl on his face. He wasn't going to let the medic off easily after what his children had been put through. There was gonna be hell to pay.

TBC

Please review! Thank you all for reviewing the last chapter, and I had a blast at Comic Con! It was an amazing experience and I would gladly go again. You guys should check it out too if you haven't already!


	20. Relying on Others

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

This chapter is dedicated to the one and only Jim Beaver. Happy belated birthday!!

John was pissed. Okay, maybe pissed was a strong word. More _resentful _of the confused man before him. Sure, he understood Brian had no control over being possessed, but this guy had made his life a living hell lately and it wasn't over yet. He had a right to be a little disgruntled.

"You believe me _now_?" John asked with an indignant scowl on his face.

"Wish to hell I could still say no. Oh, god… What did I do?" His eyes fell on Dean who was still clutched tightly to his father's chest. "I couldn't stop myself. I could see what I was doing, but it wasn't me. I swear it!"

"We know how possession works, thank you very much. Get the hell away from my kid." The last thing John wanted was to let this guy near his son again.

"John…" Bobby warned. "Give him another chance, will ya? You know damn well none of this was his fault."

Brian looked to Bobby for permission who nodded. Then he slowly slid himself over to the huddled family members. Dean forced a small smile onto his lips in between panting breaths. "Welcome… back. Like this… version of you… more."

_Talk about guilt_. "Dean, I…"

"'s okay. Not your… fault," Dean grunted out through clenched teeth. God, he hurt.

"I should have believed you guys from the start. It just seemed so farfetched!"

"We get that reaction a lot," Sam responded, sensing it was hard for his brother to keep up the flippant façade. "Trust me, you're not the first. Is there anything you can do for him?"

Suddenly, the house collapsed in on itself behind them and Dean let out a scream of pain and arched backwards into his father's arms, clutching at his own chest now.

Needless to say, the onlookers were taken by surprise. John tightened his grip around his son, trying to steady him and prevent Dean from hurting himself more.

"Dean?! What's wrong?!"

Bobby moved in and pried Dean's hand away from his chest with great difficulty, then gasped at what he saw. There was black fluid trickling down the front of Dean's shirt right where the cross was carved into his skin.

"Dear god…" he whispered as he carefully pulled the collar of the boy's stained t-shirt away from his skin. The black fluid, resembling ectoplasm, was draining from the supernaturally inflicted wound.

John wrapped one arm around Dean's stomach and put his other palm against Dean's forehead to restrict his movements as much as possible.

"Bobby?! What's happenin'?!" John shouted, not being able to see what was happening since Dean was directly in front of him.

"Not sure if it's good or bad, but this cross in his chest is oozin' black."

A bright green light erupted from what was left of the burning house and Dean went still.

"Damn it… Not again!" John roared with frustration and made to place Dean back on the ground in case CPR was once again necessary.

"He's still breathin', John. Just passed out." Bobby checked Dean's chest again to find that the wound was completely healed; not even a scar was left behind. Just a black liquidly mess on his chest and shirt remained. _This kid really needs a shower…_ "The cross is gone. Your stupid plan actually worked."

"You had doubts?" John smirked, needing to throw in a bit of humor to give his emotionally exhausted old heart a break.

"Can ya blame me? Now that he's out again, should we chance movin' him? The cops'll be here soon thanks to your blaze of glory back there."

"Where the hell do you suggest we go? We won't have enough lighting or supplies to fix him up at the motel room, but we sure as hell can't take him into the hospital again."

Since this was what Brian was about to suggest, he had to throw in his two cents. "Why not? The spirit thing and the cross are gone now. You could just say he was in an accident or something."

"He was just checked _out _of the hospital, Brian," John grumbled impatiently. "Don't you think it'd look a bit suspicious to bring him right back lookin' ten times worse than when he left?"

"He needs medical attention!" Brian argued, wishing the man would come to his senses.

"He _needs _his family. We take care of our own. Always have, always will. And this time won't be any different."

"John, we could really use the kid's help," Bobby supplied quietly to the protective father. "We don't know what kind of damage we're dealin' with here yet. Havin' a medic around might be a decent idea."

John glanced down at his eldest son who looked like he was four years old again after a bad dream. Shortly after Mary had died, Dean had nightmares a lot. He refused to voice them, but he would silently slip into his father's room and climb up onto the bed next to him hoping daddy could make everything better again. _If only things were still that easy…_

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to keep you around, but we don't even know where we're goin' yet. We _should _be headin' out of town, but Dean's not gonna make it that far without care. He's lost too much blood."

Brian's eyes clouded over, clearly unhappy with what he was about to say. "I know of a place nearby we can take him. He's another doctor who hasn't practiced in a few years but still has a lot of the older equipment at his place."

"Can he be trusted?" John's eyes narrowed. The last thing he wanted was to bring another stranger into this mess.

"Yes he can. He's always been very… 'by the book' as it were. He won't say a word due to doctor-patient confidentiality.

"Fine. Let's get Dean to the truck then. Brian, you ride up front with Bobby and tell him where to go. Sam can fit in the middle. I'll ride in the bed with Dean."

Since the spirit had ditched the ambulance and its supplies long ago, the three men had to act as a stretcher for Dean. John hooked his arms under Dean's, Bobby grabbed the boy's legs, and Brian supported his waist in the straightest line they could make.

They eased Dean onto the bed of the truck and John climbed up beside him. Bobby, Sam, and Brian jumped into the front and the engine roared to life.

John placed a weathered hand over Dean's heart, partially to keep him from sliding around in the back of the truck, but mostly to reassure himself that his son was in fact still alive. _Hang in there, kiddo._ He used his other hand to keep Dean's bleeding wrist in the air to slow the blood flow as much as possible.

Bobby drove as quickly as he could without risking the safety of the two people in the back. He followed Brian's directions away from the park, down a few small side roads, over a large hill, and into the driveway of a well-kept house.

Brian jumped out of the truck first. "Just give me a sec, okay?"

"Sure, we have plenty of time to kill. We might as well go play a round of golf or somethin'…" John vented.

Brian ignored the man and slowly made his way up to the front door. He hadn't been to this house in ages. Not since… _Don't think about that!_

He reached out and pressed the doorbell. His heart was pounding with each second that passed. _What if he doesn't answer? We have no place else to go…_

The sound of a heavy chain being undone brought Brian back to the situation at hand. The door creaked open a few inches.

"Yeah? What do you want?"

"It's Brian."

"I've noticed. I repeat… What the hell do you want?"

"Got some friends of mine in the truck. One of the kids is hurt pretty badly. I could use your help on this."

"Oh you could, could you? I don't practice medicine anymore. You know that. Haven't for years."

"Yeah, I know. But I really need you on this one. Please."

The older man growled. "Bring him in."

"Thank you, dad."

Brian jogged back to the truck and told the others it was okay. There was no way they were all going to fit through the front door carrying Dean like they had before, so John opted to do it himself. As he gathered Dean into his arms, the boy started to stir.

"Just try not to put too much pressure on his ribcage or back," Brian guided.

"Or anythin' else for that matter," John grumbled under his breath, then sighed. "Sorry, kiddo, but there's no other way of doin' this. Hang in there, buddy." With that, John stood to his full and intimidating height, Dean clutched protectively in his arms.

Dean groaned at the altitude change and his head rolled into the crook of his father's elbow. "Shh… It's okay, Deano." John carried him all the way into the house, looking around for any possible threats that might be lurking in the unknown territory. His eyes then focused on the old man nursing a cup of coffee by the kitchen sink.

"Bring him in here," the man rasped out in a gravely voice. "Put him on the table."

The smell of antiseptic was in the air and told John that the table had been very recently wiped down. He put Dean's legs on the table first, then slowly lowered his back.

Dean was more awake now and he gasped as his torn skin touched the hard surface and it was like a knife twisting in John's heart. Sure, he hadn't caused all of his son's injuries, but he had certainly done enough. _That_ gasp was on _his_ head.

Brian was already working to change the bandage on Dean's forearm.

"Jus' leme 'lone…" Dean mumbled, drifting on the edge of unconsciousness.

"'Fraid we can't do that, sport," John answered apologetically. "You're a mess. Let these docs here take a look at ya, then you can get some sleep."

"'m fine, dad. Please, just…"

"That wasn't a request, Dean. They'll make it as quick as they can, right?" John turned to Brian who hadn't said a word since he stepped foot in the house and saw in the light all the damage he had done to the boy. When he first met the kid, all he wanted to do was protect him. Hell, he even challenged the mighty John Winchester! And yet the majority of the injuries Dean was now sporting were of his own doing.

Brian had become a medic to _save_ lives, not to destroy them. He had become a medic to honor his brother's death. The thought that he had just completely failed his brother _again_ tore Brian up inside. Now that he was back in his childhood home, he couldn't shake his brother's memory from his mind.

He blinked back tears and looked away from Dean because, if he were honest with himself, there was a good deal of resemblance between the two boys. He couldn't bear seeing the blame he assumed was hidden deep in Dean's eyes, behind the walls he constantly had up. Brian wasn't sure he could help this kid again without falling apart.

He glanced around at the small family and swallowed hard. He didn't have a choice. These people needed him right now and he owed them so much. He refused to fail them again.

Brian cleared this throat. "I promise I'll make it as quick and as painless as possible, okay?"

"Oh for Christ's sakes… Get out of the way, Brian. This kid is bleeding all over my damn kitchen. Go get my first aid supplies from the closet."

"But, dad… His wrist is…"

"_Now_, Brian."

"Yes, sir."

Brian's father pulled on surgical gloves and stood forebodingly over Dean's prone form.

"Let's get started, shall we? I'd like to get to bed sometime this century."

TBC

I am so sorry for the huge delay! I have been working on a new challenge story on the side which I will begin to post as soon as this story is completed. Thank you all so much for sticking with me, and I hope this chapter was worth the wait!


	21. Something for the Pain

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

John felt he had to respect this new stranger for his presence and, as horrifying as the realization was, he found that the man was a lot like himself. That didn't mean he had to like the guy. In fact, his first impression was that this acquaintance of Brian's was a real asshole. If the situation hadn't been so dire, he probably would have just taken Dean somewhere else.

Unfortunately, he didn't have the choice. Dean was getting weaker by the minute and John didn't have the heart to try and move the boy again.

He studied Dean's face, trying to read him. That had always been a difficult task. Dean was known for the layers of walls he hid behind and unless he was really drugged up on pain meds, he rarely if ever spoke of his true feelings.

Being a dad did give him some advantages though. For instance, he knew that when his eldest used humor, he was usually hiding something important; whether it be the truth concerning what he does for a living from some pretty waitress he was preying on, or an injury he didn't want to address.

Also, if he looked close enough for the signs, he could tell if Dean was in pain by the small lines around his mouth that he tried to hide, resulting in a strange mixture of a smirk and a grimace. He would also clench and release his fists to give himself something else to concentrate on. Lastly, no matter how many walls Dean built around himself, he could never fully conceal his pain from his eyes.

John looked for all the signs, and found two out of three. Dean was trying to keep the pain off of his face but it was so intense at this point, that there were moments where a full out grimace would show. _That's a __**very **__bad sign._

But still, it wasn't like Dean had never been in this much pain before. Sadly, pain was a large part of their lifestyle.

Thankfully, when he glanced down at Dean's hands, they remained lax on the table. _Guess it can't be __**too**__ bad then…_

When he looked to his son's eyes, not only did he see the pain just below the surface, but he also saw barely controlled fear. John frowned. Dean had been through a lot in his short lifetime, and John could count on one hand the number of times his eldest had shown fear. His protective nature kicked in at full force and he moved closer to the table, laying a gentle and comforting hand on his son's good shoulder.

"It'll be okay, kiddo."

Dean glanced up at him, swallowed hard, and then nodded. He _needed _to believe in his father's words at this point. He was just too damn tired to keep up the façade after everything he had gone through in the last few days and it was a relief to have his father's soothing words to latch onto.

That warm feeling quickly disappeared when the stranger approached the other side of the table, gloved hands in the air and ready for action. He felt like a lab rat that was about to be dissected.

"Alright, who's gonna tell me what the hell happened to this kid so we can save some time without a full exam?"

Brian spoke up, being the only one in the room that could catalogue all of Dean's injuries. "He broke floating rib number twelve on both sides and fractured rib eleven on the right, he has a recently reset dislocated shoulder which is badly bruised and swollen, bruising all the way down his back, particularly around his spinal column, a medium grade fever that has been steadily rising for a while now, the deep slice through the artery of his right wrist that may or may not be infected at this point, shallow cuts on his wrists from handcuffs, lacerations across his back from an unknown source…" At that Brian paused, glancing sideways at John who nodded gratefully. "Other than that, he's more than likely dehydrated and there is a possibility he will get contusions on his chest from CPR which had to be performed earlier. Did I miss anything?" He glanced at John more directly this time.

"God, I hope not."

Brian's father rolled his eyes. "Well get comfy cause it sounds like we're gonna be here for a while. First thing's first. We need to stop this wrist from makin' a bigger mess of my table. Get my suture kit, Brian."

"Yes, sir."

Sam quirked an eye at John. Maybe his father wasn't so old fashioned after all. Then again, Brian's dad wasn't exactly a spry youth either.

Brian returned with the requested kit and laid it on the table next to Dean for easy reach.

"Don't put it down on the table, you fool! You'll just contaminate all my disinfected tools! Didn't they teach you anything before handing out that diploma? Hold the damn box if it isn't too heavy for you and stand by me where I can reach it."

Brian bowed his head, his cheeks flushing pink. "Yes, sir," he repeated quietly and did as he was told.

Suddenly, John wasn't looking like such a horrible father to Sam. Suddenly, his dad was the best man on the planet. He knew they needed a professional's help, but Sam wished to hell they could just get out of that house and have John and Bobby put his brother back together again.

Unfortunately, not even Humpty Dumpty was able to choose who his attempted saviors would be. He, just like Dean, had to grit his teeth and bare it, praying that the outcome would be worth it.

_Please, just give me somethin' for the pain already. Anything…_

Dean blinked slowly up at the man towering over him. His whole body was still throbbing at the same pace as his racing heart, but for some reason the intense fire he felt burning through his veins was slowly lessening in its intensity. He felt sluggish and on the verge of falling back into the darkness. So close…

"Hey! Wake the hell up, kid. If I can't sleep now, then neither can you."

Dean jolted back to awareness with a groan. He had been so close to relief, he almost felt like crying. Almost. After all, Winchesters don't cry. His vision cleared just long enough to see the curved needle in the doctor's gloved hand. The man was holding a small torch flame to it, disinfecting it the old fashioned way. _Crap._ _That's gonna sting like a bitch._

John's hand tightened automatically on his shoulder. "Can't you give him somethin' for the pain first?"

"Getting this bleeding under control is more of a necessity right now, don't you agree? I can't risk meds thinning his blood even more. Prepare yourself, kid," was the only warning Dean got before he felt the sharp pain glide through his torn wrist and then pull taut.

Sam growled and headed for the old man who had forced a small yelp from his big brother. "His name is _Dean_! Not _kid_!"

"Don't make no difference to me, boy. Right now, he's my _patient_ cause my son is too inept to fix these injuries himself. Now shut up and let me concentrate, runt."

John grabbed his youngest's arm before Sam could get close enough to the doctor to inflict harm. "Let it go, Sammy."

"But he…!"

"I said let it go."

"Yes, sir," Sam grumbled through clenched teeth. All the rage he had been feeling for himself since Peter was officially gone came flooding to the surface and he wanted to vent on the stranger who was hurting his brother even more. However, John knew Sam a little too well and tightened his grip before nodding to Bobby who understood the request immediately. _Get him outta here._

Bobby nodded back, then strode over and took Sam by the shoulders, intending to guide him into one of the other rooms.

"No! Bobby, let go! I'm not going anywhere!"

"You're not helpin' matters here, son. You need to step away and cool off a bit."

That's when Sam exploded. "How can I cool off when I know that this is all my fault?! I helped the spirit kidnap my brother! I left him cuffed to that bed all that time… Let her do horrible things to him and I just stood there obediently and did what she told me to! So tell me, Bobby, how the hell can I forgive myself for that?"

"Outside, Sam. Now." Bobby tightened his grip on the boy's shoulders and steered him to the front door. After fighting the first few steps, Sam relented and allowed himself to be lead away. He felt just as drained as everyone else in the room did, perhaps moreso due to the fact that he hadn't slept since all of this had began and the guilt that was weighing him down. He just didn't have the strength to fight back anymore.

Dean watched the exchange happen, thankful for the distraction and glad that Sam wouldn't have to witness the patch job he was going to need. He'd be safer outside with Bobby. The next stab of the needle brought his attention back to the task at hand. He hissed through his teeth and turned his face away from his still bleeding arm.

"How many more?" John demanded, wincing every time his son did.

"You really want me to stop and try to guestimate an answer for you or would you like me to stop your son from bleeding to death?"

If only looks could kill… Dean didn't think he had ever seen his father that pissed off before, and he hoped to hell he never would again. Yet another reason he was glad his little brother had been taken outside. That face was quite easily nightmare-inducing material.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Once Bobby had the door shut behind him and Sam, he released the boy's arm to give him room to vent. Sam immediately started wandering off, pacing towards the cars and then back towards the house once again. Bobby waited silently, knowing that Sam would start talking as soon as he was ready. It didn't take nearly as long as he had thought it would.

"Every injury my brother is sporting right now is because of me, you know that?"

Bobby sighed. "You know damn well that ain't true, son. You weren't yourself. You blame Brian for what he did?"

"No, but he was possessed and…!"

"And you were too in a way. You had no way to control what was happenin'. In fact, if you had been yourself you would have been no better off than your brother in there, understand? That spirit was deranged and wanted nothin' more than her two boys back and she wasn't gonna take no for an answer. You aren't responsible for a single one of those injuries on your brother, do ya hear me?"

"Bobby, I…"

"Answer me, boy."

"Yes, sir. I hear you." Sam hung his head, unsure if he felt relieved or dejected at this point.

"Come here, Sam."

Sam wiped a stray tear from his cheek and shuffled his way back over to Bobby who put a strong hand on either side of the boy's face, tilting his head up until they made eye contact.

"It ain't your fault, kiddo. None of this is."

The sincerity in Bobby's eyes was the straw that broke the camel's back and the flood gates opened. Tears streamed down the boy's face as all the events and fears from the last few days flashed through Sam's mind in quick succession.

Bobby pulled the youngest Winchester into his chest and wrapped his arms comfortingly around the small boy who clung to him in return, desperate for absolution.

"He's gonna be fine, Sam. You'll see."

TBC

Hope that wasn't too emotional for you guys! Please please please review! More patching up of Dean and family drama to come!


	22. Trust In Me

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

"Get me scissors," Brian's dad demanded and his son quickly headed for a drawer near the sink. "This ratty t-shirt has to go. I wouldn't be surprised if his wounds _are_ infected judging by the state of it."

Brian returned and held the scissors out for his father to take. The man reached for them, but then his hand started to shake and he grimaced, pulling it back. "Even _you_ can handle a task as simple as cutting a shirt off. Come on, we don't have all day!" he barked.

His son knew him better than that, however. Sure his father loved degrading him, but this particular jibe was due to the fact that the man's arthritis was acting up and causing him pain. Instead of calling his dad out on it, Brian moved to cut off Dean's shirt himself, ready to assist wherever necessary. The old man was going to need backup with his hands out of commission. The only question was would he put aside their differences and accept the help?

Brian lifted the hem of Dean's shirt to keep the scissors away from his skin. Dean's fevered mind was drifting between his recent incarceration and the present. He knew Brian was standing over him and he saw the glint of the blades just above his navel and began to struggle against his father's supportive grip.

"N-no… Don't. Please, don't…" He tried to push Brian's hands away but John gently took his son's wrists into his own, keeping them away from the blades.

"Dean?" Brian paused, unsure of what had upset the boy.

"Oh for cryin' out loud, it's just a damn shirt!" Brian's father barked, having no idea of the events that had taken place over the last few days. "Cut the damn thing off so we can get started here!"

John turned Dean's face until they were eye-to-eye. "Look at me, Dean. You're safe now, okay? Lie still. He's not gonna hurt you, son. Just try to relax." He kept Dean distracted as Brian cut straight up the center of the boy's shirt, then across the two short sleeves. He quickly balled up the now useless cloth and tossed it across the room and out of the way.

All three men glanced down at Dean's now bare chest and Brian and John sighed with relief. Besides some slight bruising across his abdomen from the CPR, he had escaped relatively unscathed on this side.

"Doesn't look too bad to me," the old man commented as he carefully palpated the bruised tissue, looking for any possible internal damage. Dean grunted and tried to lift his head to see what the doctor was doing but John gently pushed him back down with a palm to his forehead. "After all these years, Brian, you come bangin' on my door for a couple stitches and a few bruises?"

"No, sir. It's his back. He..."

"D-dad?" Dean's voice called weakly.

"Yeah, kiddo?" John leaned down so he could hear, running the hand on his son's forehead through Dean's spiky hair.

"D-dad…" he mumbled once more, a desperate look in his eyes as his whole body suddenly started to convulse.

"Dean?! What in the hell is goin' on?!" John barked at the two other men.

"Get him on his side!" Brian's father ordered and all three men quickly moved forward to assist. "Try not to restrict him too much. It'll cause more harm than good."

"Easy on his right shoulder," John warned, feeling another stab of guilt as he remembered forcing Dean to keep both of his hands on the wall while he beat him. That must have been agonizing with a recently reset shoulder. The joint was still horribly swollen.

Once Dean was on his left side, the doc got a good look at the boy's back. Needless to say, he wasn't too thrilled.

"Why is he convulsing?" Brian asked, putting a hand against Dean's cheek to check his temperature. "His fever isn't quite high enough for seizures…"

Brian's father looked closer at the wounds on Dean's back. Realization came over him and he turned angrily to his son. "Damn it, Brian! Why the hell didn't you tell me he had spinal trauma as well?! I didn't hear _that _in your long list of ramblings! So… what? You assumed a spinal injury just wasn't that important after all? That clearly the tiny scratches on his wrists were more fatal?!"

Brian blanched, coming around to the back of the table to see for himself. "I… I didn't see it before, dad. It must have gotten worse over time. The other bruising on his back kept it from being obvious."

"Maybe to an idiot like you, but not to a _trained_ doctor. You've done enough I think. Get out of my presence so I can concentrate. Obviously I have to check the kid over for any _other _injuries you might have 'overlooked.'"

"Knock it off, both of you! Can we focus on my son for a minute here? What's wrong with him?" John was trying to stabilize and comfort Dean at the same time and the family feud going on in front of him was wearing on his last nerves.

"Your kid has a red flag thoracic injury. What the hell happened to him?"

"He got into a fight a few days ago at school. Got shoved into a tree."

"Oh yeah? This bully happen to be your size, mister?" the doc sneered at John.

"Can you help him or not?" John demanded, having been blamed quite enough lately.

"He needs to be in a hospital. He should at least have x-rays taken if not an MRI. I don't have the equipment to run those kinds of tests here."

John whirled to face Brian, fury written all over his face. "You said he could help! What the hell are we doing here if he's useless?!"

"I beg your pardon! I am far from being useless! It's thanks to me this boy hasn't bled to death yet!"

"Whatever. We're outta here." John turned back to Dean who had finally stopped seizing and was lying limply on the table, a few tears of pain streaming down his cheeks. "Dean? Can you hear me, son?"

"H-help, d-dad. Please. H-help," the boy whimpered, tremors still sporadically jolting through his body.

It was obvious that it was getting harder and harder for Dean to breathe lately as well. John was pretty sure his son's panting wasn't solely based on the pain from the seizure either.

"You try to move him again and you'll more than likely kill him. He could easily end up with flail chest which is no better than a punctured lung and he's clearly havin' enough trouble breathin'. But hell, I ain't gonna stop ya if you want to leave. There's the door. My bed is callin' my name."

John looked from the door to his son and back again. As much as he hated the situation, he would never risk Dean's life unnecessarily when it came to medical problems.

"H-hurts…" Dean gasped, trying to curl in on himself but failing miserably.

"What hurts, Dean?"

"Everything. On fire..."

Brian elaborated. "Ever cut off the blood flow to a limb for too long and then get pins and needles in it? That's what he's feeling now, only throughout his whole body. The pressure against his spinal cord is cutting off circulation."

That settled it. They were all in this together for the long haul. John turned to the old man.

"We can't take him to the hospital. You're our only chance right now. Please. Help him."

The doctor sighed heavily. "Fine. I'll see what I can do. Can you hear me, kid?"

Dean managed a weak nod.

"Good. Make a fist for me."

All three men watched as Dean's hand remained lax on the table. John felt like he was going to throw up. He had assumed that Dean's unclenched fists meant that his pain was tolerable, not that he was dealing with paralysis.

Dean was staring wide-eyed at his hands as well. "C-can't… Won't m-move…"

"But he was movin' fine before!" John defended indignantly. "He hurt his back a few days ago! Why is he goin' numb now?"

"He has a hematoma, or an accumulation of blood, near his spinal cord which is putting pressure on it and causing his limbs to be temporarily paralyzed. He must have been feeling the pain increasing since the injury occurred. Didn't he ever say anything?"

John shook his head. "He hasn't been home since it happened, but he's got a habit of hiding pain. Always has."

"Not the brightest idea, especially in this case. But if we can relieve the pressure, there's a good chance he'll gain full muscle function back."

The doctor ran his hand down Dean's spine, making sure it wasn't broken and that there were no dislocated vertebrae. When his fingers grazed over the large bruise near his spine, Dean gasped and pressed his forehead into the table to counteract the pain.

"Well, that's definitely the hematoma. Can you move your legs?"

Dean focused on getting his legs to move, desperate to find that he wasn't completely paralyzed and let out a sob of relief when he could make both legs move a few inches.

"Good. We may have caught this just in time. We have to drain the blood out to relieve the pressure as soon as possible."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"Not _we_. _Me_. I don't trust either of you to be doing surgery that close to this kid's spinal cord." The old man was preparing a needle when Brian gently took hold of his wrist.

"Can I speak with you for a moment?"

"You do realize that this is an emergency, don't you?" Brian's father barked.

"Yes, sir, but this can't wait."

The man put down the needle with a little more force than was necessary, then stepped out of John and Dean's earshot with Brian following close behind.

"What is so urgent?"

"Dad, I can't let you operate on Dean with your arthritis acting up. You could do permanent damage with your hands shaking that close to his spine."

"My hands are fine, and I don't see any other options!"

"I can do it, dad. I know you've never forgiven me for Kevin's death, but I've been a medic for fourteen years. Let me do this."

"You're damn right I haven't forgiven you for killin' your brother. I still can't believe I let you back into this house after every…"

"Please. That kid over there doesn't deserve to pay for our differences, okay? You can continue to hate me afterwards if it makes you feel better, but don't make a bad call cause of emotions. You're too good of a doctor for that."

There was a long, awkward pause as the man thought things through. When Dean started twitching again on the table, he knew his son was right.

"Fine. Don't screw this up too and make me regret my decision, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's get to work then before he gets any worse."

They headed back over to the table together, Brian ready to step up and call the shots now. "Hang in there, Dean. I'm gonna stop the burning feeling soon. Needle."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, Sam was fighting to get himself back under control. He didn't want to look weak in front of Bobby, but he knew the man had no problem helping him pick up the pieces.

"We should get back inside. Dean needs me."

"Dean's in good hands, son. I think it'd be best if we let them do their jobs and stay out of the way."

"But I could see it in his eyes, Bobby. He's scared."

"Dean'll be…"

"Not Dean. _Dad_. When dad looks scared, it's serious. I want to be there in case somethin' goes wrong. I want to be there if Dean doesn't…"

"Sam, stop. He's gonna be just fine."

Sam paced away, then made his way back again. "That man was hurting him more. Dean doesn't deserve that."

"Sometimes you have to hurt the ones you love to protect them."

"Dad used to say that too." Sam's mind wandered off into the past, his eyes clouding over. "You know, he hit Dean once. He was drunk and they got into a huge fight."

Bobby sighed and bowed his head. "I remember that day. Your dad is only human, Sam. He makes mistakes just like everyone else. Not that I condone what he did…"

"Yeah, well… That's a mistake he's never gonna make again. Not while I'm here. It's about damn time people started looking out for Dean instead of the other way around. I'm not gonna let him go through this alone. I'm going back inside. Are you coming or not?"

TBC

Please review! Plenty of angst and family drama to come!


	23. Can't Hide the Truth

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

"John, you said you were a medic in the Marines, right? Know how to set up an IV drip?"

"I could do it in my sleep."

"Excellent. He needs antibiotics and some fluids for hydration. Dad, do you have an IV apparatus here?"

"What the hell kind of doctor would I be if I didn't? On the table in the back room. Fluids in the cabinet."

"Is Dean up to date with all his shots? I don't know how clean that knife was…"

"He should be. We try to keep up with that stuff for situations like this, but it's not easy when you're constantly on the move with no family doctor."

"We'll give him a booster just in case then. You still with us, bud?"

"Y-yeah…"

John, who still had a hand on Dean's forehead and good shoulder, could feel his fevered son shaking but wasn't sure if it was due to the fear or another seizure. "I'll be right back, kiddo." He gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze and pat, wincing as he used his busted wrist to do so, before turning to go get the necessary supplies for the IV.

"John, wait," Brian called having noticed the wince. "Your wrist. Is it broken?"

"It'll be fine. Just worry about Dean."

"At least put a brace on it so you don't damage it any further. Back room, in the cabinet next to the IV supplies."

"Thanks." John made his way to the back room to collect everything he needed.

Brian stepped closer to the table, making sure Dean didn't feel abandoned in his father's absence. "We're gonna have to roll you onto your stomach, Dean. Can you handle that?"

"K-kinky, but f-fine."

Brian smirked. He had a lot of admiration for this kid.

John heard his son joke back as he returned to the room, supplies in hand and brace wrapped tightly around his bad wrist. While he was relieved to hear Dean's attempt at humor, he also knew it was one of the signs his son was in intense pain. Luckily, he held the remedy in his hands.

He mixed the solutions together, creating a cocktail meant to destroy bacteria and take the edge off of the pain. He rolled the IV stand to the head of the table and hung the bag from it.

John paused knowing Dean hated IVs and he was reluctant to cause his son more fear or pain. But the advantages of the mixture far outweighed the disadvantages. "Alright, dude. You know the drill." He was sure Dean would have tensed had he been able to.

"John, help me get him onto his stomach first. Then he won't have to see the IV," Brian suggested.

"Good idea."

Together, the men carefully positioned Dean face-down on the table so his back was easily accessible. Besides a small groan of discomfort, Dean allowed himself to be maneuvered. It felt awkward having little to no control over his own body.

"Feel like f-freakin' G-Gumby…"

John laughed softly. "Look like him too."

"M-makes S-Sam P-Pokey," Dean snickered before wincing and gasping. Only then did something feel off to him. "Wh-where's Sam?"

John cocked an eyebrow at Brian before responding. "He went outside with Bobby earlier, remember?"

"Oh. Right." Dean blinked in confusion.

"It's okay, John. He's just disoriented from the blood loss," Brian consoled.

"And he's gonna get worse if you don't get to work!" Brian's father barked, annoyed that he was taking shotgun on this patient's care in his own house. "Either set up the damn IV or get out of the way."

John mumbled a soft apology to Dean, then slid the needle beneath the skin of the boy's right hand. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, but more so to avoid seeing the needle than to fight against the pain of it. It was always the anticipation that hurt worse than the needle itself. John taped it in place and turned the drip on as high as he safely could.

Brian pulled out a small spray can of topical anesthetic from one of the drawers nearby. "I'm going to numb the area as much as possible, Dean. You'll feel a cold sensation where I spray."

Brian carefully sprayed the entire area he was focusing on and then waited a moment for the anesthetic to kick in.

Dean gasped, feeling like an ice cube had been placed on his back. "Holy s-shit!"

"Just give it a sec, Dean," John soothed, massaging the tense muscles at the back of his boy's neck to help relax him and to keep him from moving, forgetting for a moment that Dean was relatively paralyzed at this point anyway.

"You'll need a collecting bowl in case there's more blood than that needle can handle. I'll get one from the kitchen," the old man grumbled before hobbling off to the other room.

John seized the moment of respite. "So… That's your dad, huh?"

Brian didn't bother looking up from the equipment he was preparing. "Yep."

"Why do you let him treat you like that?"

"Because he's my father and I'm tryin' to be a good son. Make up for previous mistakes. He wasn't always like this."

"Is he retired?"

"Not exactly. He stopped practicing medicine years ago."

"Yeah? Why's that? Was he fired for having a shitty bedside manner?"

Brian chucked softly but it quickly died and his eyes hardened. "No, he quit when I became a doctor."

"Because he figured you had it covered?"

"Because he didn't have any faith in the system once I got my degree. He's never forgiven me for what happened to my little brother. Believe it or not, my dad and I used to be really close."

"And what exactly happened to your little brother?"

Brian stopped what he was doing and looked directly at John, pain and guilt burning in his own eyes. "I got him killed."

The old man chose that exact moment to come hobbling back into the room. Everyone fell quiet and he paused, looking between his son and the stranger suspiciously. "Are we going to fix this kid sometime tonight or what?"

"Yes, sir," Brian responded immediately, then traded a quick glance with John before returning to the prepared needle in his hand. "Ready, Dean?"

Dean nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"Alright. Let's get this over with then." Brian took a swab and began sponging the area with antiseptic.

The front door swung open, making everyone inside jump and John snap to alert hunter mode. He whipped around, ready to fight, only to find a determined Sam standing in the doorway with Bobby right behind him.

"I thought I asked you to keep him out of here, Bobby," John growled in disapproval. He knew this wasn't going to end well if Sam saw Dean's back.

"The kid has a mind of his own, John. And when it's set, there's no stoppin' him. He wants to be with his brother."

Sam strode over to the table which John was trying to hide from his view as much as possible. He knew it was a fruitless attempt, but he was fresh out of intelligent thoughts tonight.

"So how's Dean do…?" Sam trailed off when he finally caught sight of his brother. He stopped dead in his tracks, confusion and concern written all over his face. "What the hell…? I might not remember everything, but I swear he was on his back the whole time. How could that have…? I mean, what…? Who…?"

His mind was scrabbling for answers that he didn't have as to what had caused the welts on his brother's back. True, he didn't remember much of the initial fight with the spirit and he did remember seeing Dean being thrown back first into a tree, but that wasn't enough to cause all the wounds. Strangely, they looked a lot like whip marks.

John knew he needed to take the blame for his mistake but he wasn't quite sure how to tell his youngest. Sam had always judged him, whether it was fair or not. In Sam's eyes, John was always wrong and never did the right thing lately. He made it evident that he was unhappy with the hunter lifestyle and he disapproved of the way his heroic big brother idolized their screw up father. This was just adding more fuel to Sam's fire. "Sam, I didn't mean… I was just…"

With the previous discussion he was having with Bobby still fresh in his mind, Sam started to connect the dots and he was furious with the picture he got. "YOU?! _You_ did that to him?! After all this time… I thought you said you would quit drinking and never lay a hand on him again? How _could_ you?!"

Dean tried to force his arms into cooperating enough to turn and look at Sam but couldn't manage more than a few twitches. He growled in frustration and had to settle for speaking as loudly as he could and hoping his words would get through to his little brother.

"Sammy, wait. He was r-right to. My fault…"

Bobby drew the same conclusions as Sam and he was just as pissed. "John, outside. Now."

John sighed, running a hand distractedly through his hair. "Bobby, I…"

"NOW, DAMN IT!"

"Dad?" Dean called weakly, still trying to turn his head enough to join in the fight.

John could hear the protective tone in Dean's voice, asking him if he needed back up. He shook his head sadly. Leave it to Dean to forgive his father for everything and always be the soldier. The good son. Follow orders and take your punishment like a man when you disobey. That was the Winchester way. John knew he didn't deserve him. "I'll be right back, Dean. Hang in there, son."

John was grateful that Bobby waited until the door was shut before letting loose. Bobby grabbed his friend by the collar and shoved him up against the wall, getting right up in his face.

"You stupid son of a bitch! What the hell were you thinkin'?!"

"I was just tryin' to keep my boys safe for Christ's sake! I didn't mean to go that far and I've been kickin' myself ever since, but Dean needed to know he can't make mistakes like that again or he'll end up like Brian."

"And what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"My boys need each other, Bobby. I know you can see it too. If somethin' happened to Sam cause Dean made a mistake… It would be the end of both of them and you know it."

"So _talk_ to the boy! You and I both know he's terrified of disappointing you. If you give him an order, he will listen and he will follow through. I swear to god, John, if you ever lay a finger on either of those boys again, it'll be the last thing you ever do."

John's anxiety over Dean and his weariness from the night's events were starting to fuel his anger. He broke Bobby's grasp on his shirt and shoved him away. "Don't tell me how to raise my boys, Bobby."

"They're not just _your_ boys anymore, ya idjit. They've been mine too ever since you arrived on my doorstep all those years ago. And unless you want a relationship like Brian and his father, you better come correct on all this. Dean will forgive you in a second and I'm sure he already has, though he sure as hell shouldn't. But you're gonna lose Sam and who do you think Dean is gonna side with at that point?"

John slumped back against the wall of his own accord, the small spark of anger being snuffed out just as quickly as it had come. "You're right. I know I'll lose them both in time, which is why I'm trying to prepare them _now_. When the time comes, I'll step aside knowin' that they'll be just fine on their own."

Bobby shook his head in disbelief. "Sometimes I think you don't realize what you've got, John. I know it's hard losin' the love of your life and it's easy to turn to the bottle for comfort, but you've got two amazing children in there and it's so damn hard to stand here and watch you fuck it all up."

"I was scared, Bobby. I could have lost both of my boys that night. And when Dean told me that it was all because he decided he wanted to take Sam out for ice cream against my orders, I lost it."

"You're damn right you did. Is there anythin' else you should have told me when you called for my help? Any other details you _forgot _to mention?"

"No."

"Thank Christ for that. I'm goin' back inside. You better make yourself scarce for a while before I fill your ass full of buckshot."

"I can't leave. Dean needs me."

"Dean needs a _father_. I'm not so sure you qualify at this point."

"I have to make things right again, and I can't do that by abandoning my boys instead of facing my mistakes. I'm not going anywhere, Bobby."

Bobby stared at him silently for a while, daring John to break eye contact first. "That's the smartest thing you've said all night. Get back in there then, and be prepared to face the wrath of Sam."

TBC

Please review! This story has received the most reviews out of all the stories I have written so far. Thank you all so much for helping me beat my previous record! Your support means a lot! We are slowly tying up all the loose ends and making our way to the final chapter. Thanks for sticking with me this long and I hope you're still enjoying the ride!


	24. You're Not Alone

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

Sam kept his eyes on his father's back until the door slammed closed. Then he turned his attention back to his beaten brother.

"Dean?"

"It barely hurts anymore, Sammy. It's okay."

"I can't believe him! After all these years…"

Dean's eyes skirted around the room, looking anywhere but at his little brother. Sam wasn't fooled.

"It _has_ been years, right, Dean? I mean, he never hit you after that night he got really drunk, did he?"

Dean sighed, wishing to hell he could lie to his little brother or at least storm from the room and avoid the topic as long as possible. "He raised us the best he could, Sam. Any punishments I got were for my own good and I deserved them." _And dad needed me to help him get through the pain._

Sam paled and looked like he was going to throw up. "He… He…?"

"He was never this bad, I swear. I just screwed up one too many times and he needed to make sure I didn't forget."

"Oh god, Dean…" Sam swayed slightly on the spot as reality hit him hard. How had he never noticed before? How many bruises and injuries had Dean been forced to hide from him over the years? No wonder he was so good at being a hunter.

"Sammy?" Dean prodded tentatively, needing to make sure his brother was okay.

While Brian stood silently by, giving the family its privacy and a chance to work things out, Brian's father wasn't so courteous. "Are we doing this or not?! Enough procrastinating already! This kid is going to be permanently paralyzed if we don't drain the hematoma soon."

The front door opened again announcing the return of John and Bobby. Sam stood directly in front of his prone brother, ready to protect him at all costs.

"Stay away," he warned as his father drew nearer.

"Boys, I am so sorry for everything. Sam, I swear to you that I will never hurt either of you boys like that again."

"You said that years ago, but you've just been hurting him in secret all this time!" He looked to Bobby for back up who immediately glared at John as this new tidbit was brought to light. _More than once? I should kill you right now, Winchester…_

"Enough already!" Brian's father yelled, stopping the argument in its tracks. "We're doing the procedure, so decide if you're going to stay or go and deal with your family drama later."

Sam responded for everyone, pointing an angry finger at John. "_He's _not staying, but Uncle Bobby can."

Dean finally managed to turn his head to face the other side of the room but couldn't see much except for the small of his little brother's shielding back. "Sam, please. I want dad here. I can't do this alone right now." His voice broke on the confession. He hated to admit weakness, pain, or defeat.

Sam glanced behind him, not moving from his protective stance. "Yes you can, Dean. You've always been the tough one."

"Yeah, well… I don't want to be. Not right now."

"You've got me, Uncle Bobby, and Brian here. You're not alone."

Dean didn't have the energy to argue anymore. "Sammy, dad stays, okay?"

Sam could clearly hear the exhaustion and desperation in his brother's voice and his determination broke. "If that's what you really want…"

"It is."

"Fine, but if he so much as…"

"I won't hurt him, Sammy. I promise you," John vowed, knowing very well that he would lose both of his boys if he ever broke that vow again. "I'm here to help him just as much as you are."

Sam nodded but made a mental note to keep a closer eye on the man from now on. He tensed as John neared the table once more. "This isn't over, dad," he warned.

It was going to be a very long night.

"Okay…" Brian breathed out, hoping to break some of the tension in the room. "You're going to feel some pressure, Dean. Don't move." Without further ado, he slid the needle into the center of the large bruise and began drawing the plunger back. Blood slowly started to fill the small barrel of the syringe.

John made his way to the side of the table opposite his youngest and took Dean's right hand into his own. Bobby came up next to Sam and put a hand on Sam's shoulder who was looking anywhere but at the needle sticking out of his big brother's back. Just the thought of it was making him queasy. But he wasn't going to leave Dean.

Once the needle was full, Brian carefully pulled it out and pushed the plunger back down to empty it into the bowl his father had retrieved for him earlier. Then he chose a spot next to his original puncture point and started over again.

Dean was starting to feel more sensation in his limbs now. Unfortunately, the temporary anesthetic was already starting to wear off as well. His fingers curled weakly around his father's for support. John squeezed back gently. "Doin' great, kiddo."

Brian pulled the needle halfway out, changed the angle, and pressed it back in. He felt like the biggest asshole moving the needle around while it was under Dean's skin, but it was the only way to collect all the fluid. Even with the topical spray, Dean probably felt like he was being stabbed in the back repeatedly. Not pleasant at all. Regardless, he made sure every repositioning counted and that he stayed well away from any nerves and Dean's spinal cord wherever possible.

As time went on, Dean began to squirm against the pain. The feeling of pins and needles was once again coursing through his weakened body and he was starting to feel every jab and movement of the needle in his back. He curled his other hand around the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. John used his busted hand to smooth Dean's sweaty bangs off his forehead.

"How're you doing, Dean?" Brian checked after the fifth puncture.

"Got more feelin' back," he grunted through clenched teeth.

"Good."

"If you say so."

"Is the spray wearing off?"

"Pretty much."

"Sorry, man. Almost done. Hang in there."

Brian emptied out the needle once more, then carefully palpated Dean's back to see which areas were still swollen. Dean's teeth were clenched to the point at which his jaw was starting to ache, but he was grateful for the distraction.

Brian found more blood trapped at the very edge of Dean's spine. _Shit. That's a bit close for comfort…_ This is where his steady hands came into good use. He glanced up and nodded to John who immediately understood and his face went stony. He tightened his grip on Dean's hand and crouched down until they were eye-to-eye.

"I'm right here, Dean, okay? Stay with me."

"D-dad?"

Sam heard the fear in his big brother's voice and it took his breath away. Dean didn't _do _scared. He did pissed off, cocky, and annoying… but never scared. Sam gently broke free of Bobby's comforting grip and put his hand on Dean's good shoulder, trying to ignore the heat and sweat under his hand.

Bobby moved to the foot of the table, quickly understanding the situation and attempting to help in any way he could. He wasn't sure how much feeling Dean had gotten back in his legs at this point, but he wasn't going to leave it to chance. He lightly grasped onto the boy's ankles, ready to strengthen his grip if necessary.

"Deep breath, Dean," Brian warned before sinking the needle once more into the boy's skin, extremely close to his bruised spinal cord.

Dean's nerve endings felt like they were exploding. The fire erupted in his limbs and traveled all the way up his spine and into his head. A choked off cry broke free of his defenses and his body automatically began to buck against the pain.

Everyone tightened their grips, determined to help the poor boy fight the agony as much as possible.

"Dean! Dean, stay with me, son. Look at me. Hey, I'm right here."

John put his free hand- the one that wasn't being crushed by Dean's vice grip- on his son's cheek, keeping their gazes locked.

Brian repositioned the needle one last time, hoping to hell it was enough to make a difference.

A second wave of fire assaulted Dean's senses. "Ah! God!" He gritted his teeth again, biting down on the scream that threatened to burst from him otherwise.

Enough was enough Sam decided. "Stop it! Leave him alone now!"

"I'm done, okay?" Brian quickly assured as he removed the needle for the last time. "It's all over, Dean."

Dean was panting with exertion as his muscles slowly uncoiled and he slumped against the table limply. The room was drifting in and out of focus again, so he allowed his eyes to slide shut, taking refuge in the darkness.

John felt Dean's grip go lax in his hand and watched as his boy's eyes closed in exhaustion.

Brian disinfected Dean's back once more, taking care to coat each of the welts while he was at it. Better safe than sorry. He could tell Dean was out and wanted to take care of all the other injuries before he fought his way back to consciousness again.

Sam moved so that he was in front of Dean's face and saw that his brother had given up the fight to stay awake.

"Dean?" he whispered tentatively, needing reassurance that his brother was alright.

"Shh… Let him rest now, Sammy," his father stated softly. "He needs it."

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Sam snapped, never one to pass up a good fight.

John ignored the barb. Normally he would not allow one of his sons to speak to him that way, but just this once, it was justified. He closed his eyes and let out a steadying breath.

"I'm sorry," he admitted to no one in particular.

"You should be," Bobby answered gruffly.

TBC

As always, reviews are appreciated! This is the end of Dean torture in this story! He's on the road to recovery, but there are more wounds than the physical ones that will be addressed before I wrap it up.


	25. Words of Spite and Comfort

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

John and Brian eased the unconscious Dean into a sitting position and held him steady while Bobby wrapped his ribs securely.

As this process was taking place, the old man slipped back into the kitchen and returned with a small mug half-filled with a dark liquid. He pushed it into Sam's hands.

"The IV should help keep infection away and keep the pain at a tolerable level, but have him drink that once he's conscious again. It'll help with the fever."

Sam nodded. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah… When he's ready, Brian, you can put him in the spare room to rest."

"Is my son gonna be alright?" John demanded as the man began to head towards the staircase.

"He'll survive. Now if you'll all excuse me, I would like to get at least a few hours of sleep in before dawn breaks."

John turned back to Brian. "Your father is a real piece of work."

Brian chuckled. "He likes to think so." He gave Dean a quick tetanus booster. Thankfully, the boy remained blissfully ignorant. "Alright, that'll about do it for tonight. Let's get him to bed."

"I've got him," John stated, much to Sam's chagrin. "Can you make a heat pack for his shoulder while I move him?"

"One heat pack comin' right up. The room is down the hall, to the left. Second door."

John carefully lifted his son into his arms, gently rolling Dean's head into the crook of his elbow. Dean frowned and a soft groan floated from his lips.

"Shh… I've got you, son."

He carried him to the appointed bedroom, Sam stubbornly leading the way and dragging the IV pole for his brother. John sighed.

"Are you ever going to forgive me for what I did, kiddo?"

"Dunno yet. But definitely not tonight." Sam plopped down into a chair he pulled over to the side of the bed. He looked exhausted but resolute. "I'll take first watch. You and Uncle Bobby can go get some sleep."

John eased his eldest onto the soft mattress, placing him on his stomach.

Dean groaned again, fighting to open his eyes to see what was happening around him. He could tell by the soft sheets that he was no longer on the hard table. He cracked his eyes open just enough to see a blurred shape in front of him. He tried to pull away from the figure, but calloused fingers cupped the back of his neck.

"It's okay, bud. Sammy and I are right here. You're safe. Go back to sleep."

Another blur entered the room and handed something to his father. "My room is upstairs on the right if you need me, John. There's also a futon up there for one of you guys to take and a couch down here for the other. I'm sorry, but we don't have any other beds. Sam, you can…"

"I'm gonna stay with Dean. Don't worry about me."

"He's going to be fine, Sam," Brian reassured. "Wake me if anything changes." He left the room and through the dim haze, Dean could hear his footsteps going up the creaky staircase.

Dean shifted slightly to try and get more comfortable and hissed as his shoulder gave a particularly painful throb. Still, he was relieved that he could actually move it again, not to mention the rest of his limbs now that most of the paralysis had gone. Brian's procedure had worked.

Something that felt like a bean bag was placed on his sore shoulder and the heat emanating from it eased the pain almost immediately. The frown left his face and a soft sigh slipped from his lips. He blinked heavily.

"Just relax and close your eyes, Dean."

He could feel the familiar tug of exhaustion and with his father's comforting words, he gave into it once again.

John massaged the back of Dean's neck until he knew his son had fallen back asleep. That trick had always worked for his eldest, even when he was a toddler crying out for his mommy in the middle of the night. John touched the back of his hand to Dean's forehead and was satisfied that the fever didn't seem as high as it had been before.

Sam glared at his father's procrastination. "You can go now. I've got it from here."

Before John could respond, Bobby came into the room carrying the weapons bag that unfortunately was the only duffle they had grabbed from the motel in their haste to rescue the boys.

"Thanks, Uncle Bobby." Sam slid from his seat and quickly rummaged through the bag until he found the weapon he was looking for; Dean's favorite knife.

"John, you best be goin' to bed before we have to deal with any more injuries tonight," Bobby warned, glancing at the weapon in Sam's hand.

There was nothing else he could do at this point anyway. "Fine. I'll be upstairs if you need me. Goodnight."

John left the room, feeling the weight of his guilt on his shoulders once again as he trudged up the stairs. When he reached the top, he could hear arguing voices coming from a closed door on his left. He paused, unsure if he should listen or not.

"_Dad, I'm sorry for what happened to Kevin. You know I…"_

"_You've been sayin' sorry for years, boy, but 'sorry' won't fix what you've done."_

John felt as though he had been slapped in the face. Hearing the very same words he had used on Dean not so long ago from a cold and cruel man like Brian's father was crippling. _My god… Is that what I sound like to my boys?_

"_Get out of my room and leave me in peace."_

John quickly made it to his room and hid just inside the doorway to watch as Brian strode from the other room and into his own bedroom on the right. He closed the door behind him and the upstairs became silent and still.

John quietly closed his own door. _That's not going to be our future, boys. I'm going to make things right again and we're gonna stay a family, hunting together and havin' each other's backs no matter what. I won't let this family fall apart._

Back downstairs, Sam carefully slid Dean's knife under his pillow and smiled when Dean's muscles relaxed even more and he sank heavily into the mattress, snoring softly. Sam threw himself back down into his chair to sit vigil.

Bobby gently draped the sheet over Dean's back to keep him warm and give him a bit of modesty after everything he had been through over the past few days. He glanced at the youngest Winchester who seemed to be lost in thought.

"You doin' alright there, Sam?"

"Yeah, it's just… How could I not have known, Uncle Bobby? Dean and I are together almost all the time. How could this have happened without me finding out?"

Bobby sat on the edge of Dean's bed, across from Sam. "Son, your brother and father are good at what they do. If they didn't want you to know, there's no way you could have. Hell, I didn't know either. I had no idea your dad was capable of…" He paused, then cleared his throat and continued. "Anyways… Don't beat yourself up about it, understand? There's enough guilt and blame already in this house to move a mountain. I know you boys have always been thick as thieves and finding out a secret like this must feel like a punch to the gut. But while I'd like to smack your idjit of a brother upside the head for not sayin' anythin', I'm sure Dean had his reasons for keepin' it quiet and we need to respect them. Now I'm gonna go lay down for a bit, but if you want me to take over the watch, just come get me, alright?"

"Yes, sir. Night, Uncle Bobby."

"Night, kid." Bobby patted Sam's knee before rising and heading to the couch in the front room.

Sam sat in his chair for hours, replaying the events from the past few days in his head. He found he kept getting stuck on the fact that his brother was sporting scars that their father had put there and Sam had never noticed. How was that possible?

He debated on whether or not to pull back the sheet hiding Dean's wounds to get a better glimpse of them but decided against it. He didn't just want to confront the truth, he wanted to confront his brother about it as well but Dean needed his rest. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he'd get the answers he needed.

Sam settled back into his chair, preparing for the long night. It wasn't long before Bobby's snores from the other room were alternating with Dean's. The steady rhythm comforted Sam and let him know his brother wasn't going anywhere. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the mattress next to Dean's hip. "Sleep well, big brother, cause in the morning, I want answers."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sunlight flooding through the window hit Sam in the face like a baseball bat. He sat bolt upright, furious at himself for having fallen asleep. His eyes latched onto his brother and he breathed a sigh of relief to find him in the same position and breathing deeply.

Sam wasn't sure what time it was, but they must have been asleep for a few hours at least. He reached out and placed the back of his hand against Dean's forehead, just as John had done before he left the night before. His brother still felt a bit warm, but no where near as hot as he was on the table in the other room.

Dean began to stir. "Sammy?" he mumbled into the pillow.

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam whispered back, unsure if his brother was fully awake yet or dreaming. There had been a few occasions before Sam had fallen asleep where Dean would grumble out something but didn't wake up.

"Remove your hand before I remove it from your scrawny body."

Sam smirked and dropped his hand back to the mattress. His brother was definitely awake this time. "Welcome back, bro."

Dean cracked his eyes opened, squinting due to the bright sunshine. "Yeah, you too."

Sam moved over a few inches so his back was blocking the light and keeping it off of Dean's face. He had so much he felt he needed to say to his brother, but he wasn't sure where to start. Then he realized that it all boiled down to one thing. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"'s fine, Sam," Dean replied automatically.

"You don't even know what I'm apologizing for."

"Well whatever it is, we're square, okay?" Dean groaned softly as he attempted to pick his head up and get his arms underneath himself.

"What if I said I sold the Impala?"

"Then I stand corrected. Your ass is grass." As he shifted, the heat pack that was now room temperature dropped from his shoulder and landed on the mattress next to his hand. He stared at it stupidly, mind still half asleep.

Sam snorted. "Seriously, man. I'm sorry for not snapping out of it sooner and helping you escape from that crazy lady."

"She screwed with your head, Sammy. Not exactly your fault. Hell, I should have protected you better."

"You didn't let me finish. I'm also sorry you got in trouble cause of me."

Dean frowned. "Now you've really lost me."

"You took all the blame, didn't you? Dad wouldn't have taken it all out on you if you had told him the truth."

"He was scared, Sam. I can relate. None of this would have happened if I had followed his orders and kept us inside the motel till he got back."

"Well you only disobeyed cause I asked you to, so we should have shared the punishment at the very least."

"Yeah, right. I'll burn in Hell before I let anything happen to you. That's what big brothers are for. But you are welcome to do the laundry for the next month as a thank you to your awesome big brother." Dean threw the heat pack at Sam and it hit him mid-chest before falling into his lap.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

TBC

More brotherly banter and deep conversations to come! If you have any last minute requests you'd like to see before I wrap this story up, please feel free to let me know. And as always, every review helps and is very much appreciated!


	26. Don't Press Your Luck

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

Dean took a minute to fully wake up and get some strength back in his muscles before attempting to swing his legs towards the edge of the bed. Sam instantly latched onto his ankle, impeding his progress.

"Dean, don't even _think _about gettin' outta bed until Brian gives you the okay."

"I'm _fine_, Sam." Dean tried to pull his leg free of Sam's grasp but his brother just tightened his grip.

"I'm serious, Dean!"

The elder Winchester huffed in annoyance. "And what exactly are you gonna do about it, little brother?"

Sam didn't miss the challenge in Dean's words. He glared back in response. "I'm _not_ lettin' you get up."

"Oh yeah? You and what army?"

Sam stood to his full height, but it didn't quite have the outcome he had hoped for. Instead of looking intimidated, Dean snorted, then quickly wrapped an arm around his bruised abdomen with a soft gasp.

"Ah! Shit, Sammy… Don't make me laugh, dude. It hurts."

"Serves you right. Now stay there until I get Brian in here. If you try to get up again, I'll go get dad."

"Well in that case, you'd have to talk to him so that works for me. Be my guest. Go get dad."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just don't move, okay?"

"Whatever." Dean's arms were beginning to shake underneath his weight, so in the guise of surrendering, he slumped back down to his pillow.

Sam smiled and nodded, pleased he had won the fight. Then he stuck his head out into the hallway to see if anyone else was awake yet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

John had gotten very little sleep even though he was completely exhausted. He spent most of the night tossing and turning or staring up at the painfully boring ceiling. His mind just wouldn't give him the rest he craved. The events of the last few days kept replaying in his head and he couldn't help but draw parallels between his family and Brian's. Needless to say, he was anxious for the sun to rise.

When it finally did, he knew it was still too early for everyone else to be awake, so he stayed in his room and did his morning exercises. Then he slipped into the adjoining bathroom and freshened up. He did not have any spare clothes to change into, so he knew he'd have to get back to the motel at some point that day to pick up their other bags.

The smell of coffee drifted into his room from downstairs, alerting him to the fact that someone else was finally awake. He quickly crossed the room and opened his door mere seconds before the old man's door creaked open and they wound up being face-to-face.

They both froze, staring each other down. John wondered if he should say something about what he had overheard the night before, then the man turned and began making his way to the stairs. John decided to speak up.

"You should forgive him, you know," he called after the man.

"Forgive who for what?" Brian's father demanded as he turned back around, readying himself for a fight.

"You know damn well what I'm talkin' about. Don't play dumb."

"And why the hell would I take advice from a man like _you_? I saw what you did to that kid down there!"

"I know I'm not gonna be winning 'Father of the Year' anytime soon, but that's exactly _why_ you should listen to me. I fucked up. I could lose both of my boys over this and I'd damn well deserve it if I did. But you see, you and me? We ain't that different."

The man took a furious step towards John. "Wrong! I _never_ laid a hand on either of my boys!"

"Maybe not, but you abuse the hell outta Brian verbally. That's just as bad, if not worse."

"So… What? You're sayin' I should just forgive and forget, is that it? Brush off the fact that he got his baby brother killed?"

"He was just a kid who made a horrible mistake. Don't make him pay for it for the rest of his life. He beats himself up enough about it, I'm sure. And he grew into a man who saves peoples' lives every day. You should be proud of him."

The old man scoffed, but John could tell his words were getting through to him. At least to some extent.

"Look, I understand you lost a son and that must have been hard as hell, but you've still got one alive and well, and he's right downstairs. This is real hypocritical of me and I know it, but if you keep concentratin' on the dead, you'll miss your whole life and the lives of those around you. Trust me on that. You've got a great kid and he wants nothin' more than your forgiveness. If you can't give that to him after all these years of carryin' a grudge, then you're even less of a man than I am." With that, he left the man to his thoughts and made his way downstairs. He needed to check on his son.

John made it halfway down the stairs when he heard his youngest calling out for Brian. _Oh god… Dean!_

He raced down the rest of the stairs and practically skidded into Sam who was still leaning out of the bedroom doorway. "Sam?! What happened? How's Dean? What's going…?"

"Dad! Calm down! Dean's fine. I just want Brian to check him over before he gets out of bed. Jesus…" Sam had stumbled back a few steps when he saw his father careening down the hallway at him and was now rubbing his chest to ease his pounding heart.

Brian popped his head into the room seconds later, having come from the kitchen when he heard Sam calling him. "Everything alright in here?"

Dean had rolled slightly to his side facing the door as his father's sudden appearance had surprised him. "Uh… Hey, guys…"

Bobby came into the other side of the door frame, a curious expression on his face. "What's all the ruckus about? You boys okay?"

Dean glared at his brother who was looking sheepish now. "Damn, Sammy. You sure know how to start a panic. Should we wait while you get the Army and Coast Guard here too?"

"Hey, I only called for Brian," Sam stated defensively.

Brian stepped into the room. "What can I help you with, Sam?"

"Dean was trying to get out of bed but I wanted you to okay it first."

Dean rolled his eyes. "People, I'm fi…!"

"Save it, boy," Bobby warned, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know that line never works."

Dean turned pleading eyes to his father. "Dad, can you please call off the mother hens?"

"We're just tryin' to look out for you, Dean. Keep your ass on that mattress until the doc says you can move it."

Sam smiled triumphantly and Dean dropped his head onto his arm in defeat. "Unbelievable…" he grumbled.

Everyone chuckled at Dean's apparent mortification. "Alright, everyone out so I can examine my patient," Brian instructed, hoping it would help ease Dean's embarrassment a bit.

The boy didn't pick his head up again until he heard the door shut. It was just him and Brian now. He tried to get his voice heard one last time as Brian made his way towards the bed. "Seriously, Brian. I'm…"

"In pain and feeling incredibly stiff? That's understandable after what you've been through."

Dean scoffed and shook his head. "Why do I even bother?"

"Beats me. Shall we get this over with so you can join us for breakfast?"

"Honestly? Not all that hungry. But I'd be your biggest fan if you just gave me the okay to use the freakin' bathroom without someone holdin' my hand."

Brian laughed. "I'll make this quick then." He started by putting the back of his hand against Dean's forehead who frowned and rolled his eyes.

"This is seriously gettin' old…"

Brian ignored him. "Feels like your fever has broken. Okay, lay back down for me."

Dean rolled back onto his stomach and slid his arms underneath his pillow to get comfortable. His right hand hit the hilt of his knife. "What the…?" He pulled the weapon free and stared at it, dumbstruck. "Who…?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Brian smiled and Dean smiled back.

"Sammy."

"He's really protective of you, isn't he?" Brian began to carefully remove the bandages on Dean's back.

"Yeah. I think he gets confused sometimes as to which one of us is older," Dean joked as he slid the knife back under his pillow and rested his head over it.

"Brotherly love tends to be mutual, actually."

Dean groaned. "Dude, you're gonna make me throw up."

Brian grinned wickedly. "Oh dear… Not sure I can let you out of bed if you're feeling nauseous…"

"Ah, bite me."

"I have a feeling Sam's not going to forgive your father anytime soon for giving you these marks." Once all the bandages were off, Brian began to sponge disinfectant over the raw wounds.

Dean snorted. "Cause _that's_ anything new… Sammy and dad have a habit of goin' at it like dogs. It's sort of their thing."

"And let me guess… You get stuck in the middle?"

"_Someone_ has to keep them from killin' each other. Sam likes to pick fights, ignore orders, and piss off dad any way he can these days."

"But he listens to you?"

Dean smirked. "Only if I threaten to kick his ass if he doesn't."

Brian laughed again softly. "That used to work on my little brother too." He sobered immediately at the thought of Kevin. "They're precious, Dean. Take it from someone who lost his _way_ too early in life. Don't ever take Sam for granted."

"I won't. He'd never let me live it down if he heard me say this, but Sammy means everythin' to me. I won't let him go without a fight. Even if he _is_ a total pain in the ass… Ow!" Dean jumped as one of the particularly deep welts began to burn from the disinfectant.

"Sorry." Brian gently pressed around where the hematoma had been to make sure blood wasn't still accumulating and was pleased to find it was already beginning to heal. "Looks like the swelling is going down and the color doesn't look as bad. It'll be a week or so before it fully clears up, just like any bad bruise, but it shouldn't leave any permanent marks behind."

"Thank god. Got most of my feelin' back too. Just occasional tingling in my fingers."

"We'll monitor that, but it should clear up within a day or so. How do the ribs feel?"

"Better. So does my shoulder before you bother askin'."

"Good. You can sit up for me then." Dean did as he was told, moving slower than usual but managing the task on his own. "Can you rotate your shoulder for me?" Dean did so, only grimacing once or twice in the process. "Excellent. What about your wrist? Are the stitches causing any problems?"

"Nah. Feels a bit itchy, but I'm kind of used to the effects of stitches. Had them once or twice before."

"Mhm…" Brian quirked an eyebrow at the obvious understatement but Dean just smirked and shrugged.

"So what do ya say, doc? Am I free to take a piss or what?"

"I suppose I can allow that."

"Do I need to take the IV pole with me or can you take it out?"

"Well, I guess that's _your_ call at this point. You got all the fluids you needed last night, so it's just pumping you with painkillers at the moment. If you'd rather switch to pills, that's fine with me, but I can tell you right now they won't be as strong."

Dean held his arm out for Brian.

"Enough said." Brian removed the IV and placed a band aid over it.

"Can I take a shower too?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Don't press your luck, tiger," Brian chuckled.

TBC

Please review! I'm already working a few suggestions into upcoming chapters, so please feel free to keep them coming or just let me know what you think so far! Every review helps and is much appreciated. Thanks everyone!


	27. The Past Comes Back to Haunt

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

_A/N: Sorry, guys! I forgot how long it's been since I explained what happened to Brian's brother, Kevin, so here are the exact quotes from ch. 5 as a quick recap. Brian is telling Dean the story: _

"I made a mistake and he paid for it. I was a stupid teenager and went to pick up my brother from soccer practice. He was five years younger than me. I had been drinking, but like most drunks, I thought I was still okay to drive. I wasn't paying attention and we went off the road. I didn't know how to save him."

"Is that why you became a paramedic?"

"He was certainly one of the biggest reasons, yeah. I figured maybe if I was able to save a few other lives, I could forgive myself for what I had done. I dunno… try to make up for it I guess. I haven't touched alcohol since."

_Brian talks about it more in ch. 23 as well, and Brian's father still hasn't forgiven him for the accident, hence the rocky relationship. Now on to the next chapter!!_

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"Can I take a shower too?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Don't press your luck, tiger," Brian chuckled. "Let's see if you can even make it to the bathroom without falling flat on your face."

"Wow, thanks for the encouragement, doc."

"Anytime."

Dean was finally allowed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. _Thank god Sammy isn't here in case I fail miserably…_

Brian stood right next to him ready to help with support if the boy needed assistance. Dean slid off the bed and slowly stood to his full height. He swayed slightly.

"Feeling dizzy or weak-kneed?"

"No…not really."

"Define 'not really.'"

"I can still see the bathroom…more or less. Does that count?"

"Dean…" Brian reached out a hand, intending to take hold of Dean's elbow but the boy pulled away from him.

"I've got this, okay? Just give me a sec." He blinked a few times and brought the room back into focus. "Alright, I'm good."

"You don't have to rush things, Dean. You were a mess just a few hours ago. You need time to recuperate."

"Yeah, yeah…" Step by step, Dean made his way into the bathroom.

"Want me to stay with you?" Being a doctor, this wasn't an unusual question for Brian, but for a Winchester, it was horrifying and a kick to the pride. Dean balked.

"Hell no! I think I can handle it from here."

"Alright. As long as you don't feel dizzy, you can take a quick shower. I think your dad is going to run to the motel to pick up your luggage after breakfast. I'll have someone bring you fresh clothes when he gets back. Leave your shirt off though so I can get your wounds bandaged again."

"Okay, thanks. Oh, hey… One last request."

"Yeah?"

"Can you make Sammy pancakes for breakfast? I was supposed to make him some the other day, but… Well, you know."

"I'll see what I can do."

Brian backed out of the bathroom and headed towards the kitchen.

"And don't burn them!" Dean called after him before closing the bathroom door and finally getting some much needed privacy, not to mention relief for his bladder.

He was tempted to lock the door behind himself, desperate for a few minutes to collect himself to keep up the façade. Physically, he was healing and he could deal with the pain. Hell, sometimes he even welcomed it. It was a nice distraction from the emotional and mental turmoil he was dealing with. Truth be told, he wasn't alright. Not at all. But no one else needed to know that, right?

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As soon as Brian made it into the kitchen, Sam was by his side. "Is he okay? Is he still in a lot of pain? He's good at hiding it, you know, but you can't let him…"

"He's on the mend, Sam. Give him a few days and he'll be practically good as new. Speaking of, how is your arm feeling? Any pain?"

"It's not too bad." Sam glanced down at his cast and rotated his forearm back and forth to show Brian the pain was tolerable. "Can I go see him now?"

"I believe he's jumping in the shower, so why don't you have some breakfast first. Dean put in a special order for you."

"Pancakes?"

"Pancakes." If Brian had been expecting a smile, he was disappointed. If anything, Sam looked depressed by the food choice. "Sam?"

"Huh? Oh, it's just… _He_ was supposed to make them for me, before all this happened. He's really good at it."

John, who was sitting at the kitchen table across from Bobby, spoke up with an attempted peace offering. "I could never quite master those damn things like Dean did, but I could give it a try if you'd like, Sam."

"NO!" Sam composed himself at John's hurt look. "I mean, that's okay, dad. Cooking was never really your strong suit."

John nodded, accepting the barb for what it was. He really _couldn't _cook to save his life. "Alright. I guess I'll just head over to the motel to get our stuff then."

"You don't want any breakfast first?" Brian inquired.

"Nah. I'm good, thanks. Maybe I'll grab somethin' on the way."

Bobby knew his friend well enough to know that he was leaving to avoid the tension in the atmosphere rather than because he wasn't hungry, but he let him go anyway. Maybe having some time to himself would allow the man a chance to clear his mind a bit. However, he had to be sure John wasn't going to take off and leave the boys behind.

"Don't be too long, ya hear? Or that kid of yours will be struttin' around the house in a towel all day. That's somethin' _none _of us need to see."

That brought a small smile to John's lips. "I'll be back soon, promise. Sam, you're in charge of annoying your brother until I get back."

"Yes, sir." Though the words didn't hold any resentment, John knew it was only because Sam agreed with the order and not because he wasn't still pissed at him for what he did to Dean.

"Call my cell if you need me." He sighed softly, took his keys from the table, and headed out to the Impala. It would be good to have some alone time to deal with his thoughts.

Bobby stuck his head out of the doorway just as John reached the car. "He'll forgive you, John. Just gotta give it some time."

John nodded gratefully, wondering to which of his sons Bobby was referring.

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Sam was shoveling forkfuls of pancake and syrup into his mouth as soon as the stack was placed in front of him.

Bobby smirked. "He's gonna be a while, Sam. You might want to actually try _chewin' _your food. And save a few for your brother."

Sam was too busy listening to the running water to pay the family friend any mind. He had to time things just right. Dean was _so_ going to kick his ass for this…

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Dean stood beneath the hot spray, allowing the force of the flow to sooth his aching body. He had to be careful not to let the water beat too heavily on his bruised back though. Only twice did he feel lightheaded enough to grab onto the safety railing beside him, but the longer he stood there, the better and stronger he felt.

He reached for the soap with his right hand without thinking and hissed as the muscles in his shoulder made themselves known. He placed his hand against the wall instead to steady himself and control the pain, then automatically brought his left hand up to match it. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall in between them, letting the water flow down his back.

"_Get agains' the wall, Dean. Both arms up."_

Dean could hear his father's demanding words echoing in the back of his mind. He gasped as he was suddenly hit with images from a memory he thought he had buried long ago. He recent beating had brought it all floating back to the surface.

_He was ten years old and it was the anniversary of his mother's death. His six and a half years old baby brother was sitting in front of the television, drifting off to sleep. Their dad had hit the local bar a few hours ago, leaving Dean with instructions to have Sam in bed by eight and to keep him safe. Dean had already fed Sammy Spaghetti-Os and cleaned up the kitchen. The program Sammy was watching ending at exactly eight o'clock and Dean slipped the remote out of his lax hand and shut off the television._

"_Come on, little brother. Bedtime."_

_Not so long ago, Dean used to be able to carry his brother to bed, but the boy was growing so quickly. Instead, he opted to take his brother's hand and led him into his room. He turned down the motel bed and tucked Sam in._

"_Night, Sammy."_

_He kissed him on the forehead (an old habit he knew he'd have to break eventually) and then went back into the living room to read for a while. He was allowed to stay up until ten. He checked the salt at all the doors and windows, then checked the locks before sitting down on the couch and cracking open his book: "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." It was an old, tattered version he had stolen from a library a year ago and it had quickly become one of his favorites._

_He was five chapters in when he heard little feet by the living room doorway. Then a timid voice spoke up. "Dean?"_

"_You're supposed to be sleepin', Sammy."_

"_Had a bad dream. Can I sit with you for a while?"_

_Dean sighed and dog-eared the page he was on so he could find it again later, then closed the book. "Yeah, I guess. Come here."_

_Sam crawled up onto the couch and snuggled into his big brother's side, feeling safe again._

"_It's okay, buddy. Nothin's gonna hurt you while I'm around."_

_It wasn't long before they were both fast asleep on the couch._

_Dean was brought back to consciousness by the sound of someone fumbling with a key outside of their room. He knew it had to be their father, and if he couldn't match the key with the lock, he was clearly drunk. Then he realized Sammy was still sleeping against him._

_He nudged his brother gently. "Sammy? Wake up, bro."_

_Just as Sammy cracked his eyes open, the door was kicked in and John stumbled over the threshold. His bloodshot eyes immediately fell on the boys._

"'_s 'leven at night, Dean. Wha' the hell is he still doin' up? I told you, put him to bed at eight!"_

"_He had a bad dream, dad."_

"_Oh grow up! You think I didn't wish half o' my life was jus' a nightmare? You're __**lucky **__tha's all it was!"_

"_Sammy, go to your room, now, okay?" Dean whispered. He had seen his father drunk before, but never this bad._

"_But, Dean… I want to stay with you!" Sam whined, gripping onto his brother tighter and trying to hide from his father._

"_Please, Sammy…"_

"_Been too soft on you boys… Time ta be a man, Dean! Both of ya… Too soft. Too weak. Learn how to figh'…!" _

"_Go, Sammy!" Dean yelled as his father advanced on them. He gave his brother a shove towards the bedroom door. "Close the door and lock it, ya hear me? Don't come out till I come get you."_

"_But, Dean…"_

"_NOW!"_

"_Where do ya thin' you're goin', Sam? Gotta teach ya to be a man…"_

"_Dad, let him go, okay?" Dean begged, stepping between his father and Sam's retreating back as he watched his brother scamper away. "You can teach us in the morning."_

"_Migh' be too late then. Migh' be too late now… On your fee', Dean."_

"_Yes, sir." Dean stood quickly. Mechanically._

"_Gotta know how ta figh'. Block it…" John threw a drunken punch at Dean, unsure which out of the three he was seeing was his real son. If he were sober, he would have been able to pull the punch. He wasn't._

_Dean hit the floor hard, spitting blood onto the wooden boards. "Dad…Wait…"_

"_You didn' block!" John roared. "Figh' back!"_

Dean was lost in the memory. He could hear his father's voice ringing in his ears and actually turned his head to the side to avoid the punch, not realizing his father wasn't really there. His hands, which had been flat against the wall, curled into fists as he struggled to take control back.

"_Gotta toughen you up or you're no' gonna survive the war… Figh' back, damn it!" John's anger was getting the better of him. Angry at the demon who killed his wife, angry at himself for failing her, angry that he hadn't taught his boys how to protect themselves yet. He kicked his boy in the ribs, sending him sprawling onto his back. "I said figh' back!" He began removing his belt with sloppy fingers. He would teach his son a lesson for disobeying. In his eyes, it was the only way to keep his boys alive. "Up agains' the wall, Dean…"_

Dean's eyes shot open and he shoved himself away from the wall, nearly slipping on the tile floor and having to grab onto the handle for support again. "Jesus Christ, Dean. Get a hold of yourself! That was seven freakin' years ago!" He wanted to send his fist into the all-too-sanitary wall. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to vent his frustration, anger, and fear.

But he knew he couldn't. There were people right downstairs waiting for him and they were worried about him enough already. He couldn't do that to his brother. He couldn't scare Sammy even more. He had to pull himself together. He reached up with a shaky hand and turned the water off.

In the kitchen, Sam shoved the last bite of pancake into his mouth and bolted for the bathroom as soon as he heard the shower end. _Sorry, Dean, but I need to know._

TBC

A/N: Flashback is dedicated to BlueSteelLove1207. Thanks for the review! I will also be using suggestions from rog457, rholou, and Miss Dassy before I finish, so please keep the reviews coming and thank you all so much for the love and support! Almost reached 500 reviews!! Amazing!


	28. Ghosts of Horrors Past

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

Dean stepped out of the shower shakily, wrapped a clean towel around his waist, and made his way to the sink, gripping onto the porcelain for support. He glanced up at his reflection and winced at the sight. No wonder everyone was worried about him.

Staring into his own bloodshot eyes, he could still see random clips of that horrible night playing in his head, and he could still hear a much younger version of himself pleading for his father to stop. He felt anger and deep-seated grief at what he had been put through, then berated himself for thinking ill of his father, even if just for a moment. _It wasn't his fault, damn it! He was drunk and tryin' to keep us safe…_He needed to believe it. It had been his crutch for seven years.

Water dripped from his body into the sink and onto the tiled floor. One second, Dean saw the water for what it truly was, but the next, he saw his own blood dripping while he stood on ten-year-old tiptoes to see into the sink's mirror to clean his wounds before Sammy saw them.

Dean shook his head hard, trying to clear away the images but only succeeding at sending water droplets from his hair flying all over the bathroom.

He saw the reflection of the doorknob turning slowly out of the corner of his eye seconds before the door burst open behind him. He whirled around, instinctively putting his back to the nearest wall and dropping into a fighting stance.

"Hey, Dean, I just wanted to see if you… Dean?" Sam was still gripping the doorknob, staring at his brother in concern. He had been hoping to catch a glimpse of Dean's back, but his brother was clearly still on edge. Dean was five sheets paler than he had been the night before.

Dean's immediate thought was that John had just burst in to finish what he had started, but then he realized where he was and he felt ashamed and disgusted with himself for ever thinking ill of his father. Once he realized who _had_ barged in on him, he rubbed a weary hand over his face and let out a long sigh to collect himself again. "Shit, Sammy. Ever heard of knockin'?"

"Sorry, man. I wasn't thinkin'. Just wanted to see… if you needed anything."

Dean's defense mechanism kicked in and he turned his fear into anger and annoyance. He quickly dropped his fight stance, hoping against hope that Sam hadn't seen it. "Just some _privacy_. Can't I even get ten minutes to myself without people checkin' in on me?"

Sam was looking worried again. "Dean, you've been in here for half an hour now."

Dean was taken aback. He hadn't realized it had been so long. "Oh. Still… Mind gettin' out now?"

Sam ignored his brother's request. After all, he did come in here for a reason. "Dean, I… I want to see your back."

A myriad of emotions crossed Dean's face, starting with confusion and ending with stony defiance. He knew exactly why his brother had made the request, and it wasn't to help patch him up again. "No." He took another step back, pushing himself further against the wall.

"Why not?" Sam took a step forward, matching his brother's retreat. He knew better than to corner Dean, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to press his luck a bit.

"Cause I said so. Did dad come back with fresh clothes yet?" Dean asked, very aware that he was still only clad in a towel. He was also hoping diversionary tactics would work on his little brother, but Sam wasn't having it.

"Please, Dean? I just want to know if what he did will leave scars."

"What difference would _that_ make?"

"A big difference."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, trying to conceal the fact that his hands were shaking as well as to hide some of the bruising across his abdomen. "I have tons of scars already. They'll just blend in with the rest… _If _they scar."

"But these scars won't be from a _monster_, Dean. They'll be from _dad_. How many of those other scars are from him? Why didn't I notice them before? I've helped patch you up nearly every time you got hurt over the years, but I never saw the marks he left."

"You were never _meant _to see them, dude. It was between me and dad. You were never supposed to be involved."

"Why didn't you tell someone? He had no right to…"

Dean shook his head sadly. "You're still too young to understand, Sammy."

Now it was Sam's turn to look confused. "What's there to understand? He _abused _you, Dean!"

"No. He _trained_ me." Sam opened his mouth to object, but Dean held up a hand. "Just listen for a sec, okay? Most kids, they get taught their ABCs on a scrap of paper that'll be thrown away two seconds later, regardless of whether the lesson sticks or not. But when the kid gets tested on what he remembers and he finds he's forgotten what he was taught, the worst thing that'll happen is he gets a bad grade, or hell… maybe a shiny sticker for effort and a pat on the head. But me? _I_ screw up, and it could mean gettin' one or both of us killed. Dad couldn't risk throwin' that piece of paper away and havin' me forget. So he did what he had to, and I _became_ the piece of paper. I've got the lessons ingrained in my skin, Sammy, and there's no fuckin' way I'm gonna forget them. Screw the shiny sticker, as long as I can come home to have my little brother still alive and unharmed." _Shit. Mighta said a bit too much there._

Sam swallowed hard, processing Dean's words. "So…you took those beatings to protect _me_?"

Dean sighed. Leave it to Sam to turn simple facts into a guilt trip. "No, Sammy. I took the beatings cause I _earned_ them."

"I earned plenty too over the years. Hell, I pick a fight with dad every five minutes. How come he never hit _me_?"

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "What are you jealous or somethin'?"

"Course not. I'm just sayin' there had to be a reason he never came after me and I've got a feelin' I have _you_ to thank for that. And I think you have _me_ to thank for some of those scars. Hell, maybe all of them."

"What are you gettin' at, Sam?" Dean asked wearily. The flashback and the scare from Sam's sudden appearance had significantly drained what little energy he had recovered from sleep.

"You can't keep putting yourself in danger to save me. I have to learn to protect myself. You have to stop worrying about me." _Or I'll have to leave to keep you safe._

Dean snorted at the ridiculousness of the statement. "Yeah, like _that'll_ ever happen. I'm your big brother, kiddo. Nothin's gonna change that. I can't _not _look out for you. So I guess you'll just have to deal."

Though he didn't come right out and say it, that last bit was enough to convince Sam that Dean had indeed taken a few hits to protect his little brother. It was a slap in the face for the younger brother, and he was never going to forgive his father for what he did, but he knew he had to try and keep the peace between them, even if just for Dean's sake. He blinked back the tears of guilt and said the only thing he could think of to end the chick flick moment.

"Jerk."

"Bitch," came the immediate reply. "Can I get some privacy now?"

A knock on the doorframe startled both of them. Sam whirled around and came face to face with Brian who was carrying Dean's duffle bag.

"Didn't mean to sneak up on you boys, but your dad just got back with your bags so I thought I'd deliver them and get Dean patched up again while I was at it."

"Can I stay and help?" Sam asked the doctor hopefully.

"_NO_, Sammy," Dean replied adamantly. "Doctor/patient privilege." He winked at his brother to soften the blow of being kicked out. He knew if Sam stayed and saw his back again with freshly opened eyes, he would either fall apart from the guilt or storm off to the kitchen to pick another fight with their father. Dean wasn't going to allow either option to happen.

"I left your bag in the empty room across the hall so you can get changed as well, Sam," Brian informed the boy.

"Why do you have an empty room?"

"It… Uh, it was my brother's room. I guess dad just never got around to making it into something else."

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, feeling awkward for having broached the painful subject, and he slipped quietly from the room.

Dean was still standing uncomfortably against the wall, unsure of what he should do now. He'd never admit it to anyone, but now that the shock of everything had worn off and he was more coherent than last night, he was starting to feel nervous around Brian again even though he knew the man wasn't possessed anymore.

"Right then." Brian cleared his throat. "Here's your bag. I'll wait outside while you get some jeans on. Just give a shout when you're ready."

"Thanks." Dean slowly made his way over to the medic and took his bag before backing away again. Brian gave him an understanding smile and shut the door behind himself.

Dean found a clean pair of boxers and his favorite jeans, then quickly dried off with the towel and pulled the articles on. He could only dab at the water on his back and even that caused him to wince on occasion, but he rubbed the towel over his head to dry his hair as much as possible, leaving it to stick up in all directions.

He still didn't feel up to being around other people just yet, but he knew if he kept stalling everyone would get worried about him again. He was tempted to slip out the bathroom window and into the woods until he could get his emotions back under control, but that just wasn't an option. He had responsibilities to his family and friends.

"Doc?" he called out, not wanting to prolong things any further. He wanted to put a shirt on and hide his injuries from everyone's concerned gazes- Sam's most of all.

Brian respectfully knocked on the door to alert the boy that he was coming back into the room, then entered with the first aid kit in hand. He lowered the toilet lid and looked up at Dean, clearly telling him to take a seat.

"I know a chair would probably be more comfortable, but we've got the best lighting in this room for some reason. I promise I'll make it quick."

"It's fine," Dean stated nonchalantly, trying to build up all the walls he had accidentally cracked in the shower.

Brian laughed. "You _are_ fond of that word, aren't you."

Dean shrugged as he sat down stiffly, all his hunter instincts on high alert and his muscles tense. He still felt vulnerable and he didn't like it. "It's just a word."

"Sure is, to most people…"

"Whatever, Freud."

Brian took out the supplies he needed and laid them out on the side of the sink. Dean was sitting ramrod straight on the toilet which was putting more shadows than light on his back.

Brian gently gripped Dean's good shoulder, ignoring the flinch that came from the boy anyway due to his dislike of being touched. He hoped to hell that that was all it was and that Dean wasn't still afraid of him after what the spirit did while possessing his body.

"It's okay, Dean." He slowly bent the boy forward until Dean was resting his elbows on his knees. Now Brian had enough light and a better angle to work with. "So how come you didn't want your brother here for this?" he asked casually to ease the boy's tension.

Dean turned his head to the side so he wasn't speaking to the floor. "Why _would _I? Injuries from a hunt are one thing, but now that he knows some are from dad… Trust me, we'd never hear the end of it." He changed his voice to match a whiny version of his little brother. "But _Dean_… it's not right for him to do that! He's evil and abusive and you should run away and join the circus instead…"

Brian smirked and began dabbing disinfectant over Dean's wounds as he had done earlier. "Well, he'd be right about some of it."

"Just because I'm a freak doesn't mean I'd fit in at a circus." Dean tried not to shiver as the man's hands skimmed over and gently prodded at his torn and bruised back. He had to keep telling himself it was just Brian- the caring man he had met in the park what seemed like ages ago.

"Wise ass. I meant it wasn't right for your father to beat you like that. I don't care what his excuses are. There had to have been a better way to handle the situation." He smeared antibacterial cream over the deeper cuts, being careful to avoid the stitches.

"Oh, not you too…" Dean groaned. "Look, until a few days ago, you didn't even know evil existed. No offense, but you don't really have the authority to say what is or isn't right in our world."

Brian paused in thought. "Maybe you're right, but I _am _a medic, and I've seen a lot of abused kids in this job and it sure ain't pretty."

"Well _those _dads are assholes. They hit their kids for no reason. My dad isn't like that. He doesn't enjoy hurtin' me, but he does what he has to in order to keep us safe. He did the best he could with us. When mom died… Lots of people fall apart after a loss like that. He could have easily started throwin' punches at me _and _Sammy to vent the pain he was feelin', but he _didn't_. It wasn't about causin' pain. It was about _teachin'_."

"But he _did _cause you pain."

"And I've never forgotten a lesson because of it. I'm sure as hell not sayin' it was enjoyable, but more often than not, it was necessary. He learned the whole tough love thing in the Marines. I don't expect you to understand." Dean looked back down at the floor. Clearly, the conversation was over.

Brian taped down the last gauze patch in silence, then took a step back to admire his handiwork. "Alright, kiddo. You're all set. Do you need help with the shirt or…?"

"Nah, I'm good, thanks."

"Okay. Take your time. I'll see you downstairs when you're ready."

TBC

Please review! Dean's about to realize that the more you bottle up, the bigger the explosion is when you finally let it out. All it takes is a little push over that edge…


	29. Clinging to Sanity

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

"_Alright, kiddo. You're all set. Do you need help with the shirt or…?"_

"_Nah, I'm good, thanks."_

"_Okay. Take your time. I'll see you downstairs when you're ready."_

Dean nodded but didn't move from the toilet until Brian had closed the door behind himself again. Then the boy stood and made his way back to the mirror.

His eyes were instantly drawn to the small scar on his bottom lip where his father's ring had split it open seven years ago. When John had sobered enough to realize how much damage he had caused, he tried his best to put his son back together again, but holding the piece of ice to his terrified kid's bloody lip just wasn't enough to make the cut go away. Nothing he did was enough to make _any_ of it go away.

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Out in the kitchen, John leaned against the counter, dropping his own duffle by his leg. He wasn't going to take care of his own comforts until he knew his boys were taken care of.

Bobby watched him from his seat at the table.

"Seein' as the motel is just a few streets away, you were gone a pretty long time. You alright, John?"

"Yeah, just needed to process a few things."

Bobby nodded his understanding. "You manage to find a solution to world hunger yet?"

John chuckled. "Still workin' on that one. How are the boys doin'?"

"Dean just got out of the shower 'bout fifteen minutes ago. Sam darted up the stairs to check on him seconds after the water shut off. I reckon Dean ain't too pleased the squirt barged in on him."

"I think you're right there. Maybe I should go make sure…" John pushed himself away from the counter and took two steps towards the hallway.

Bobby stood up from his seat. "_You_ eat some breakfast. I'll go make sure Dean hasn't throttled Sam yet. Brian's in there as well, replacin' the bandages."

John wanted nothing more than to see Dean up and about with his own two eyes, but he knew Bobby's suggestion was probably for the best so he reluctantly changed his direction and sank down into the same chair he had vacated about forty minutes ago. He dropped his face into his hands.

Bobby paused at the other end of the room. "You sure you're alright?"

"Spectacular."

"What exactly were you thinkin' about on that half hour trip you took?" he asked with a concerned frown.

"The first time I lost control and hurt my baby boy," John whispered between his fingers. "It's been seven years already. He hadn't done anything wrong, Bobby. He didn't deserve any of it. It was the anniversary of Mary's death and I was drunk, stupid, and terrified I'd lose my boys too. When I finally sobered up… Shit, Bobby. He was a mess. It was the first time he cried since the day he realized his mommy wasn't comin' back."

John was stuck in his own horrible memories of that night. How it took him a while to realize the blood on his knuckles wasn't his own. How his little boy cowered in the corner, begging him not to hurt him anymore. How he cradled Dean in his arms, trying to ease his child's pain. How he held an ice cube to Dean's heavily bleeding lip, whispering apologies in his son's ear to quiet him down. How it took at least an hour before the boy finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep curled against his father's chest…

"Be back in a few," Bobby stated softly, leaving the broken man to his thoughts and heading for the bathroom down the hall. He wanted to find the boys and make sure they were doing okay. He bumped into Sam who was just coming out of a door on the right. He had clearly gotten changed already. "Well that was easier than I thought it'd be."

Sam looked up at him, dazed. "Huh?" There were a few tear tracks on the boy's face.

Bobby frowned. "Kid? Ah, crap... What did your idjit brother do _this_ time?"

"I was r-right, Uncle B-Bobby. All those scars r-really _were _my f-fault."

"What are you on about, Sam? I _told_ you, you had no control over what that spirit…"

"N-no, I mean the _other _ones. The ones d-dad gave him, and the ones he g-gets on hunts. He keeps g-gettin' hurt tryin' to p-protect me. I have to l-leave."

"Nonsense. You ain't goin' anywhere, boy. Dean's protective cause he's your big brother. That's never gonna change, whether you're here or ten states over. His determination to keep you safe is what keeps him goin', Sam. He _needs_ you."

The realization that he couldn't protect his brother either way was gut-wrenching. It was as though he had signed his brother's death sentence himself. Sam broke down into pain-filled sobs and he would have sunk to his knees if it weren't for Bobby's strong grip around his biceps. The man quickly drew Sam into his chest and patted him on the back.

"You boys are gonna be just fine, you hear me? You stick together, and there ain't nothin' you can't overcome. And though he ain't the best at showin' it, your daddy loves you boys more than anythin'."

"I don't t-think I can forgive him for what he d-did to Dean. He b-broke his p-promise."

"I know he did, but even though it doesn't seem like it at times, his heart's in the right place. Calm down, son. Everythin's gonna be just fine."

Once Sam's shaking and sobbing were reduced to a few quivers and sniffs, Bobby eased the boy to arm's length and wiped the tears from his reddened cheeks.

"Look at me, Sam. You've got a strong family that will do anythin' for you. No one is perfect, but that's what makes us all special. If worst comes to worst though, you've still got me, boy, and don't you ever forget that."

Sam gave a weak smile. "Thanks, Uncle Bobby."

"You're welcome. Now, go cheer your father up for me, will ya? He's bein' all broody like a girl who didn't get asked to prom."

This time, Sam managed a real grin. "Yes, sir."

Sam skulked off down the hallway towards the kitchen, not overly thrilled with the idea of confronting his father just yet. But he was smart enough to realize that it was the only way they were going to be able to move on.

Bobby shook his head in amusement. _I swear these Winchesters belong in a soap opera..._

He watched Sam disappear around the corner, and then he realized there were footsteps behind him. He didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Brian. How's Dean doin'?"

"Stubborn as ever, but he's on the mend. I replaced his bandages and left him to finish getting dressed. He's pretty jumpy still, so don't surprise him."

"Jumpy, huh? Thanks for the warnin'."

"Hey, Bobby? You're a hunter too, right?"

"Mhm…"

"Well, Dean told me that his father had the right to hurt him and that I wouldn't understand because I wasn't like you guys. I don't want to overstep my boundaries, but do you think maybe _you_ could talk to him about it? Hunter to hunter?"

"Do I _look_ like Oprah to you?" Bobby sighed, removed his cap, scratched his head, then put his hat back in place. Of course he was already planning on having a chat with the boy, but Brian didn't need to know that. It would ruin Bobby's tough-guy image after all. "Yeah, alright. I don't think I've played therapist this much in my whole life, but I'll give it a go. My old age has apparently given people the false impression that I'm also wise."

Brian laughed. "Nothing false about it. How's John?"

"Moody as ever, so don't question him."

"Moody, huh? Thanks for the warning." Brian smiled before heading upstairs to his room.

Bobby chuckled and made his way to the bathroom. He knew Dean well enough to know the kind of pain he was feeling and hiding, and to know that it wasn't going to be easy getting the kid to open up to him. He readied himself for a battle, then knocked softly on the doorframe to announce his presence. "Dean? You still in here?"

A frustrated grumble came from the far side of the room and Bobby had to laugh when he saw the boy struggling to get a shirt on past his head. He couldn't get his bad shoulder to cooperate. Bobby stepped into the room and closed the door behind himself.

"Would it kill ya to just ask for help once in a while, kid?"

"Probably…" came the muffled response and then Dean gave up and dropped his arms to his sides in defeat.

Bobby made sure his footsteps were loud enough for Dean to hear so he didn't startle the boy. "Alright, let's get your head through the right hole for starters," he stated to give Dean some notice on what he was about to do. He found the collar of the shirt and, with a little maneuvering and a lot of tugging, pulled it down over Dean's head. "Well hello there."

Dean just glared. He knew why Bobby was here, and it wasn't to say hello. Regardless, Dean didn't feel like talking, and there was no way the man was going to change that. He needed to be alone right now so he could process everything and rebuild the walls he had worked so hard to fortify since the age of four.

"In a pleasant mood I see."

The boy grunted noncommittally, then quickly began bustling around the room under the guise of tidying up, but his true purpose was to avoid making eye contact with Bobby. He was afraid of what the family friend might see in his eyes. He was also trying to hide the fact that he was visibly shaking.

"Boy, I can clearly see that somethin's got you on edge. Can you please just talk to me for a minute?"

Dean crouched down and began rummaging around in his duffle, pretending to look for something important. "I'm fine, Bobby. Seriously." _You don't want to hear what I have to say. _With a frustrated grumble, he rose to his feet again and started moving about the room once more.

Bobby sighed. He was hoping it wouldn't come to this. "Dean, freeze."

Never one to disobey a direct order, Dean stopped immediately but kept his gaze firmly fixed on the bare wall in front of him.

"What happened, son?" Bobby asked softly.

A lie came instantly to Dean's mind, but he knew Bobby would see right through it. He always did. "Just had a flashback is all. Nothin' I can't handle."

"A flashback of what?" Bobby stepped closer to Dean but stopped his advance when he saw the boy's hands curl into fists and his whole body tensed up. Dean didn't like to be cornered. The kid was a powder keg, just waiting for an excuse to explode.

"The first night…" Dean stopped abruptly, not wanting to relive the memory once again. He shook himself mentally before continuing. "It was seven years ago, Bobby. Ancient history. Just snuck up on me is all."

Bobby was pretty sure he knew what _first _Dean was talking about now, but he needed the boy to admit it himself for his own good. Denial wasn't just a river in Egypt after all. "_What_ happened seven years ago, Dean?"

There was no response, just the clenching and unclenching of fists and the tightening of a jaw.

Bobby could tell that Dean was using all of his strength to keep himself composed and in control. That wasn't going to do anyone any good. He had to force the kid to break. It was the only way he would be able to accept and move past the injustice he had lived with all his life. Bobby tried a different tactic. "You should have told me this was goin' on, kiddo. I would have stepped in long ago. You didn't need to deal with it all on your…"

"It's fine, Bobby," Dean stated softly, keeping his eyes glued to the wall to avoid eye contact. He couldn't let Bobby see the emotions he had boiling just below the surface.

"No, it damn well isn't, boy. What your daddy did… It ain't your fault, son."

Dean scoffed. "Come on, man… Not that bullcrap. Let me guess, Brian sent you in here to…"

"No, _you_ listen to _me_!" Bobby advanced a few more steps, pleased to see Dean didn't retreat. He did, however, finally turn and face him defiantly. There was a storm brewing in his eyes. Bobby didn't give him the chance to deny his words again. "It _ain't_ your fault. Never has been. John ends up in some dark places at times, but if you're gonna blame anything, blame the demon that… Well, blame the demon back in Lawrence. John had no right to hurt you like he did, even if he thought it was for your own good. That's just what he has to say to help himself sleep at night."

There was a pregnant pause where Bobby hoped his words were finally sinking in, then Dean shook his head, side-stepped, and began striding towards the door. Bobby was crowding into his personal space and he was desperate to get away before he lost what little control he had left. The walls were closing in on him and he needed to get out. "Doesn't matter."

"Dean…"

"Damn it, Bobby! Don't push me, okay? Just…leave it alone."

"Hey!" In two steps, Bobby blocked the boy's escape path and threw out an arm, grabbing Dean's right elbow.

"_Figh' back, damn it!" _

Dean swung around and brought his left fist up, stopping inches away from Bobby's face. The man didn't even blink. He knew Dean would never hit him. The boy was lashing out in fear. It was nothing more than a warning to back off.

In that very moment, the two of them made eye contact and Bobby could clearly see the pain, fear, and rage the boy was trying so hard to suppress.

"I ain't goin' anywhere till you talk to me, son." The determination and pure affection in the man's soft voice brought Dean back to reality with a jolt. His eyes widened in horror when he realized what he had almost done, then he broke away from Bobby's hold and stumbled backwards as quickly as his shaky legs would carry him until he rammed back-first into the sink.

Bobby threw out a hand in caution but he knew the boy was already out of his reach. He could do nothing but wince as Dean gasped in pain before dropping heavily to the floor, landing on his hands and knees and breathing heavily.

"Dean!" Bobby rushed to his side, but the boy pulled away from him and scrambled across the room to the toilet, threw the lid up, and began to dry-heave into it. Since he had not eaten breakfast, he had nothing in his stomach to bring up. "Jesus, kid… Just calm down, will ya?"

Bobby moved to the boy's side once more, slower this time, and carefully lifted the hem of Dean's shirt to make sure he didn't reopen any of his wounds when his back collided with the porcelain. Satisfied he hadn't done more damage to himself, Bobby wet a facecloth and dabbed at Dean's face and neck, waiting patiently for the kid to get a hold of himself again.

"Easy, son. Just focus on breathin'. Nice and steady now… You're alright."

Dean had one arm curled around the toilet lid and the other held tightly against his stomach to combat the pain. Once he finally regained control again, he turned his bloodshot eyes to his friend. "God, Bobby. I'm so sorry. I never meant to… I mean, I would never have…"

"I know, kid. I know. Don't even give it a second thought, understand? Hell, I've punched your daddy on more than one occasion and he still darkens my doorstep on a weekly basis. No idea why…" He paused, knowing he had to tread more carefully with the boy this time around. "What set all this off, Dean? You seemed fine this mornin'."

"I was. I mean, I _am_. Hell, I don't even know anymore…"

"Well let _me_ tell _you_ then. You're a far cry from bein' _fine_. You've gotta talk to _someone_, kiddo. I'm not sayin' it has to be me. It doesn't even have to be someone in this house, but you need to…"

"I saw the first time dad hit me, okay? I was ten. Sammy was six. It was…" Dean trailed off, dropping his eyes to the floor.

"The anniversary of your mom's death?" Even though he knew that was coming, Bobby was taken aback that Dean and John had been forced to relive the horrible memory in the same day. _You always did take after your dad._

Dean nodded and Bobby watched as the boy's eyes slowly became vacant as he slid into the memory for the second time that day. His voice sounded empty, almost robotic. Nevertheless, Bobby stayed on his guard, ready to shake Dean out of his daze if things started to get out of hand.

"Dad had gone to a bar down the street and left me in charge of Sammy. I put him to bed on time like I was told, but he'd had a nightmare and came back out of his room to sit with me. We fell asleep on the couch, and next thing I knew, dad was bangin' down the door, drunk out of his gourd. I told Sammy to go and hide in the room until I went to get him. He didn't see any of the fight, but he saw me afterwards… He made dad promise to never lay a hand on me again. I think he threatened we'd run away or somethin' if he didn't agree to it. Like dad wouldn't have been able to track us… We came to a silent agreement that if he ever needed to teach me a lesson again, Sam couldn't be around to witness it."

Dean blinked, returning to the present again. He hadn't realized there were tears running down his face until now, but he just didn't have the energy left to care. "All these years, I've told myself dad did it for a reason and I had to learn to obey orders, or that I deserved to be punished." His eyes connected with Bobby's again and the boy looked so lost, it nearly broke the man's heart.

_John Winchester, you son of a bitch…_

"But I swear I didn't do anything wrong, Bobby! I did everything he told me to! I didn't deserve what I got! I just wanted him to stop but he wouldn't…" The boy's fragile frame was wracked with painful sobs as Dean finally got the release he needed after all these years.

Bobby wrapped a calloused hand around the back of Dean's flushed neck and pulled him into his chest. Dean latched onto the back of Bobby's shirt like a lifeline and buried his face in the man's shoulder, mortified by the fact that he'd allowed himself to become so emotionally vulnerable now that the doors to the past had been blown wide open.

"Shh… That's my boy. You're damn right you didn't deserve it. Your daddy lost his way and he struck out in fear. It was just rotten luck you happened to be there when it got to be too much for him. I should have realized it was happenin' long ago. I'm so sorry I didn't put a stop to it sooner."

It was rare that Dean allowed himself to be held, so Bobby clung on with all he had, praying that maybe now the boy could truly begin to heal. There was only one more thing standing in his way; he still had to face his father.

TBC

Wow! I feel so drained after writing this chapter! Please review and let me know if I've handled the drama well so far. The next chapter or two will be mostly focused on John and the boys; the biggest hurdle of all!


	30. The Truth Hurts

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

Sam stood just outside of the kitchen, staring across the room at his father. He had never seen his dad looking so broken before. He bit his lower lip, wondering if he should just come back later.

John, who still had his head in his hands, heard a floorboard creak near the kitchen doorway and assumed Bobby had already returned from checking on Dean. "That was fast. How's he doin'?"

"He seems to be doin' okay, but they kicked me out so Brian could patch him up."

John sat up quickly and dropped his hands to the table when he heard his youngest son's voice. "Sammy?"

Sam looked slightly sheepish. He scuffed his sneaker on the floor, then erased the mark by wiping his foot back and forth over it. "Yeah. It's me."

"Sam, I am so sorry for all this. I never meant to let everything get so out of hand. I shouldn't have broken my promise. I never meant for Dean to get that hurt…"

"I know."

An awkward silence fell over the room while both Winchesters tried to come up with something else to say. Sam spoke up first.

"Why'd you do it, dad? I'm tryin' real hard to understand here so we can move on for Dean's sake, but I just don't get what could have possessed you to hurt him so bad."

"It shouldn't have gone that far, Sammy. If I hadn't been so drun… If I had been more myself, I wouldn't have been so hard on him. That's on me and I take full responsibility for it. But he had to be taught a lesson, kiddo. Dean told me what happened. He disobeyed a direct order and you both coulda died because of it."

Sam scoffed. "You really are blind, you know that? Of _course _that's what Dean would've told you, but you never bothered to ask _me_, did you? It was _my _fault we went out that night."

"What?" John's stomach dropped.

"Dean had no intentions of leavin' the motel. I _begged_ him to take us out for ice cream. And on top of that, I was the one who wandered off and found the spirit when Dean told me to stay put. If you were going to blame anyone for disobeying orders, it should have been _me_. Dean didn't deserve to be punished at all."

"But… I… I just… I mean, why would he…?"

"Cause you raised him that way! 'Protect Sammy, Dean. Take care of your little brother.' He knew you'd be pissed, and worse than that, he knew you'd break your promise…again. _You _made him this protective and then you hurt him for it?!"

"I didn't know…"

"So Dean, being the good soldier and big brother that he is, lied to you in order to keep me safe and to do what you've demanded of him since he was four years old. Do you realize how messed up you've made him now?"

John paled instantly. "Oh god…" He buried his face in his hands again.

Sam gave his father a few minutes to let everything sink in, then voiced the question that had been on his mind since he found out his dad had hurt his brother repeatedly over the years. "How many times, dad?"

"What?" John slid his hands to the sides of his head, massaging his temples.

"How many times have you abused Dean? How many times has he had to hide injuries to keep the peace between you and me? How many of his scars are the result of one of your so called _lessons_?"

Sam wasn't expecting any answers. In fact, he was setting John up for a fierce lecture on how much he didn't care about his boys. About how he beat Dean so often that he lost count of how many times and how many scars. All he needed was for his father to admit to it, and he would unleash the mother of all arguments right here in the kitchen.

John didn't even pause to think. "Four times, Sammy. The first time was when he was ten as I'm sure you remember, then after the Striga incident cause he could have gotten you killed by leaving you unguarded, then when he was fourteen and left the safety on during his first Wendigo hunt where he almost got _himself _killed, and then the other night when I thought he led you straight into danger after everything I've taught him all these years."

Sam swallowed his tirade and gaped in shock at his father for remembering each incident in detail. The man really _did _care after all.

Now that John had started talking, he couldn't stop. "I remember every single mark I made. I remember every single whimper that escaped his lips. I remember every single detail about each occasion and I remember every excuse I used to tell myself I was doing the right thing. Not _once _did I enjoy what I did, Sam. I never want to see you boys hurt, and that's exactly why I need him at the top of his game at all times. I need to make sure you're both prepared for what lies ahead. I'm not gonna always be around to protect you boys, and that scares the hell outta me. I just… I can't lose either of you. You boys are all I got left." His voice broke on the last sentence and he blinked rapidly to clear his blurred vision. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

Sam nodded, blinking back his own tears. "Yeah, I know… But I'm not the one you should be apologizing too."

"Trust me, there's a long list of people I need to say sorry to, but your brother is at the top of it. In fact, I think I'll go check on him now if we're done here. I need to make sure he's doin' okay." John stood and Sam stepped out of the doorway to let his father pass.

"Hey, dad?" Sam called out when John was halfway down the hall.

John paused and turned back to his youngest. "Yeah, kiddo?"

"As long as Dean can get past this, then so can I. I forgive you for Dean's sake, but I swear to God, if you ever let this happen again…"

"I won't, Sammy. I know I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to promises, but I swear on my life that I will never raise a hand to either of you boys again. This time, it was _me _that needed to learn the lesson. I was afraid Dean hadn't been takin' his responsibilities seriously, but I know better now. You've always been his top priority. As long as you boys are together, I know that you'll be safe."

"Yes, sir."

There was one more thing John felt he needed to make clear to his boys, and it was long over due. "I love you, Sammy."

Sam considered saying _Christo_ just in case, but instead he swallowed the lump in his throat and then responded. "I love you too, dad."

John smiled warmly at him, then turned to continue down the corridor again. Now, more than ever, he needed to see Dean. He reached the bathroom and froze in the doorway. His boy was sobbing into Bobby's arms, and both of them were on the ground. His instant thought was Dean had aggravated his injuries somehow, but then he put two and two together. Bobby must have broken through the boy's defenses. As grateful as he was to his friend for helping his son work through his inner turmoil, he felt a stab of jealousy that he had not been able to help Dean himself.

He was caught between making his presence known and slipping quietly back down the hall so he wouldn't intrude on their private moment, but the decision was made for him when Bobby glanced up and they made eye contact.

"John," he acknowledged.

Dean tensed immediately, wiping his eyes dry with the sleeve of his shirt and untangling himself from Bobby's arms before turning to face his father. "Dad?"

"Hey, bud. Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to see how you were doin'."

With his hair all askew from the towel, Dean looked all of ten years old again. _The first time was when he was ten years old… _John's stomach twisted at the thought of his son never really getting the childhood he deserved.

"I'm fine," came the expected reply.

John knew his son probably wasn't up for a second heart-to-heart after whatever must have happened between him and Bobby moments earlier, but he knew he had to try. "Dean, I just want you to know that I'm…"

Dean stood quickly, Bobby rising right next to him seconds later. "Dad, please. Can we not do this right now? I'm kinda tired again. The shower wore me out more than I thought it would. Think I'm gonna take a quick nap before lunch if that's okay."

John smiled sadly at his boy. "That's a good idea. Go get some rest. We'll have food ready for you when you wake up."

"Thanks." Keeping his eyes to the ground, he slid past his father and headed for the sanctuary of his bed.

John waited until he knew Dean was out of earshot. "What happened, Bobby?"

"Not my place to say, John. Did Sam talk to you?"

"Yeah. He wanted to know how many times I hurt Dean, and in case you're wonderin', it only happened…"

"I don't give a shit, Winchester. If it happened once, it happened too many times, you understand me? You're a real piece of work. You got that boy of yours so wound up that if a camel trips in Egypt, he'll think it's his fault somehow. You better come correct on this, and it damn well better be soon. I'm not cleanin' up anymore of your messes, understand?"

Without waiting for a reply, Bobby strode from the room, leaving John standing alone in the bathroom. His eyes were glued to the trash can in the corner, filled with bloody bandages. His son's blood.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, Brian knocked on his father's bedroom door upstairs.

"Hey, dad? You in there?"

"Where the hell else would I be? This _is _my room, isn't it?" came the muffled reply through the door. Brian had to smile at his father's indignation.

"Just wanted to let you know breakfast is ready and there's coffee downstairs if you want some." Brian then went into his own room and closed the door quietly behind himself.

The hall was silent for a few minutes, then the old man's door swung open. "Brian, I…" He trailed off when he realized his son was no longer standing outside of his room. His eyes slowly dropped to the ground. So maybe he had been debating whether or not to apologize to his son for his behavior… Maybe John's words had pulled at his heart strings a bit. Didn't mean he had to let anyone else see his weakness. "Wasn't all that important anyways…" he grumbled to himself before hiding behind the safety of his door once again.

He wasn't the only one whose head was spinning. Back downstairs, Dean shut his own door and closed his eyes in relief. He was never a fan of confronting his emotions at the best of times, and he sure as hell didn't like anyone else to see them. Yet somehow, he wasn't all that bothered by Bobby seeing him at his weakest. Bobby never turned him away, never made him feel stupid or pathetic, and never used his emotions against him. Bobby was one of the very few people he knew he could always trust.

But his dad… His dad was never supposed to see him weak. Dean was supposed to be his soldier, and Sam's protector. There wasn't time for him to fall apart because the second he did, his family would be at each other's throats like always and he wouldn't have the strength to get in the middle like he always did. He needed to be strong now, more than ever. But behind closed doors, he could drop the masks. Behind closed doors, he could rest.

He made his way stiffly over to the bed that was calling his name and curled up on his left side, facing away from the door so if someone entered, he'd have time to put his masks back on before confronting them. Dean forced his mind to go blissfully blank, then let his eyes drift closed and welcomed the darkness with open arms.

TBC

Please review! Only two chapters left!


	31. It Takes Two to Break Completely

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

John sat at the kitchen table, counting the seconds as they slowly ticked by on the clock hanging next to the oven. He stopped right as the clock struck three. Dean had been asleep for hours now and slept straight through lunch. John had decided not to wake the boy until three because he needed his rest, but he couldn't allow his son to sleep through the whole day without eating anything. Dean wouldn't be able to regain his strength with an empty stomach.

He rose quickly from his seat, drawing Bobby's attention who was reading the newspaper across from him.

"John?"

"I'm gonna go wake Dean up. He needs to eat."

"Why don't I…?"

"No. You've helped enough, Bobby. It's time he and I talked this through."

"I was _gonna_ say why don't I put some sandwiches together, but if you'd rather do it all yourself, it's no skin off my teeth."

"Oh, sorry. He might need to start with somethin' a bit lighter though. I doubt the spirit kept him well fed while he was her guest."

"Point taken. Soup it is. Go talk to your son, but don't you dare upset him."

"I don't intend to. I just need him to know none of this was his fault."

"He knows that, John, but I'm sure it'll help to hear it from you."

John nodded. "I'll be back." He slipped quietly down the hall and eased Dean's door open. The boy had the shades drawn and appeared to be in a deep sleep, curled in a tight ball on top of the covers. This was very uncharacteristic of him. Ever since he was a little boy, his favorite position was sprawled across as much of the bed as he could reach with one hand next to his pillow for easy access to his knife. _Maybe he's just cold…_ "Dean?" John called softly.

There was no response aside from a low moan and an unconscious attempt to curl into an even tighter ball. John made his way around the bed until he was standing in front of his son.

Deep frown lines covered the boy's face and his head began turning from side to side. His muscles were twitching slightly as though he were trying to fight something, or possibly to protect himself. He was clearly caught in the throes of a nightmare.

John wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort his boy, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew his eldest was always armed. Normally, if he even so much as breathed heavily right next to the boy's bed, he'd be met with the shiny steel of Dean's favorite knife.

Any other day, Dean would be wide awake and prepared to fight before John even stepped foot in the room. But he was injured and exhausted so his guard was down. John decided the best approach would be to keep his distance and settle for calling to his son instead.

"Dean? Time to wake up, bud."

"D-dad…" the boy groaned out, clenching his fists in the blanket beneath him. He sounded scared and lost. Safety be damned. His boy was calling for him.

John gently sat down on the edge of the bed and smoothed Dean's hair back. "Shh… You're okay. I'm right here, kiddo. It's just a dream."

"Dad… Please…" John had to lean in close to hear the soft whimpers escaping his son.

"Please what, Dean?" he asked just as quietly, not wanting to startle the boy if he wasn't fully aware yet. He kept his eyes on Dean's hands, making sure they were far away from the knife under his pillow.

"Please… Don' hur' me an'm're. 'm sorry. Won' do it again…"

The plea in the terrified voice felt like a knife in John's heart, twisting with every word. Dean was _definitely _not awake, and it clearly wasn't something supernatural plaguing his dreams.

"Dean? Dean. Open your eyes, son." John knew better than to shake the boy's bad shoulder so he tapped Dean's cheek gently instead. "Come on, buddy…"

In the back of his mind, Dean finally recognized his father's voice and his eyes immediately shot open and fixed on John; more particularly, on John's hand inches from his face. Still not fully out of his nightmare, he tried to scramble backwards out of his father's reach, desperate to get away.

"Whoa! Dean!" John raised his hands up in a placating gesture to show he meant the boy no harm. His breath caught in his throat as Dean neared the edge of the bed. What if he fell off and landed on his bad shoulder, or worse… his back? "It's okay, kiddo. You were just dreamin'. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Dad?" Dean looked confused as his eyes flickered over his surroundings.

"Do you know where you are, Dean?" John was starting to fear that they had missed a head injury, but then recognition came across Dean's face and the boy nodded, relaxing slightly.

"Yeah. The doc's place." He absentmindedly scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Sorry about that…"

John waved the unnecessary apology away. "You alright?"

Dean pressed his thumb and index finger against his eyes, trying to clear his head. "Wish people would just stop askin' me that."

"Dean…"

"I'll be fine, dad, okay? Just need a little time is all. I won't hold you back, I promise."

John quirked an eyebrow. "Hold me back from what?"

"Uh… Hunting? You know, the family business… I know you're itchin' to get back into it. I'll be good as new in a few days."

"I highly doubt that."

Dean dropped his gaze to his blankets, looking crushed. John sighed, wanting to kick himself for always saying the wrong thing.

"Look, there's no rush here, Dean. Take the time you need to heal properly."

Dean risked glancing back up again. "You mean you…you won't leave?"

"I'm not goin' anywhere without my boys, understand? After all, who'd be my backup?"

Dean looked so relieved, a rare and genuine smile crossed his face.

"It really won't take me long to heal. I feel loads better already, and I'll train harder and longer if that's what it takes to get back in shape. I won't disappoint you."

"Dean, you could never disappoint me if you tried. I'm so damn proud of you, and of your brother. He told me the truth earlier, by the way."

Dean quirked an eyebrow in confusion. "Truth?"

"About what _really_ went down while I was away."

Dean swallowed audibly. "Oh, that. Dad, I'm sorry. I can explain…"

"No need. I know exactly why you did it, and _I'm _sorry for makin' you feel like you had to lie in the first place."

Dean was staring at his blanket again, absently picking at loose threads.

"I don't know what Sammy told you, but I still shouldn't have let him outta my sight at the park. You were right to be mad at me."

"Maybe I had the right to be angry at the fact you boys didn't listen to my instructions, but I had absolutely _no_ right to hurt you for it. I know how well you take care of your brother. Hell, you practically raised him yourself. You never deserved what I did, and I am so damn sorry for makin' you believe otherwise. But I swear to you, I will _never_ hurt you again."

John watched his son, needing to gauge his reaction. He wasn't surprised when Dean didn't give him much of one. He just nodded blankly, still working a hole in the blanket.

"Dean, I'm never going to do it again, you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you…" he mumbled.

"Look at me, son."

Dean obeyed, just as his father knew he would. He had given him an order after all.

"I will _never_ lay a hand on you again."

"Okay, dad. Seriously, it's fine."

"No, it's not. I know I've made this promise to you before and I've broken it three times already, but I need you to believe me."

"I get it." Dean dropped his head back down to conceal his eyes once again. John reached out and lifted his chin.

"Never again, Dean."

Dean jerked out of his dad's grip. "Just… Don't, okay?" He tried to move further away from his father and the man's seemingly empty promises, but he was already teetering on the edge of the mattress.

John quickly moved his hand down and gently encircled his son's forearm to keep him steady. "Never again."

"I can't…. I can't do this right now, okay? I don't wanna talk about this. Please, dad…"

"I swear to you…" John tightened his grip in response, gently pulling his son forward and away from the edge.

"Just stop already! I don't want to hear it! Don't make promises you're just going to break next time I screw up!" He began frantically trying to pull his arm out of his father's grip to make a run for it. Somewhere… Anywhere… Someplace he could fall apart without his father witnessing it.

John tightened his grip just enough to pull Dean into his arms, taking extreme care not to cause him anymore pain. The boy's entire body was tense. His instincts were screaming at him to fight or flight.

"Never again," John whispered in Dean's ear, then felt his son start shaking as he fought hard against the sobs threatening to burst out of him. "I've got you, Dean. You're safe. You don't have to hold back anymore."

Dean screwed his eyes shut as tightly as possible and dug his nails into the palms of his hands, hoping to deflect the pain building in his chest.

"Just let go, son. I won't judge you. It's okay."

And that was the last of Dean's restraint. "Unh… God…" He pressed his forehead against his father's clavicle, trying to at least hide his tears and keep what little dignity he could while in the midst of a total breakdown.

"That's my boy… I love you, Dean. I'm never gonna hurt you again." He began to slowly rock back and forth, cradling his son in his arms which he hadn't done since Dean was four. But desperate situations called for desperate measures. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I've learned my lesson, okay? Never again."

Dean cried for his lost childhood, for all the fear, anger, resentment, and self-recrimination he built up over the years, and finally, for his newly found father. He hadn't seen this version of John since he was four, and boy did he miss the man. He clutched his father to himself, praying against all odds that this part of John would never leave him again.

John found himself crying too. He was afraid to hold his son too tightly due to his still healing wounds… Wounds _he_ made. Pain _he_ inflicted… But he never wanted to let his boy go. He wanted to turn back time and fix all of his mistakes. He wanted to be the father his boys truly deserved. But more than anything, he didn't want to wind up like Brian and his father. He was determined to makes things right again with his sons before it was too late.

He held his boy through the heart-wrenching sobs, the painful hiccups, and even as he simmered down to occasional sniffs. John had fully expected Dean to pull away as soon as he regained control of himself, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that Dean was just as content as _he_ was to stay the way they were. In fact, Dean was now so quiet that John believed he had fallen back asleep in his arms.

He eased his son away from him just enough to see his face. The boy's eyes were indeed closed and the tear tracks had just about dried up. The frown lines were gone. He was no longer twitching or whimpering in fear. He was finally sleeping peacefully.

John smiled down at his boy. Dean wasn't used to dealing with emotions, so two heart-to-heart conversations in one day while he was already weakened by injuries must have drained the energy right out of him.

He had grown up so damn fast, and John had missed it. But that childish innocence he used to have was reflected in Dean's sleeping face now. John would have given anything to keep it there for all eternity, but he knew the second Dean woke up, he'd be back to his usual hunter mode, all walls rebuilt and fortified again.

He brushed Dean's hair away from his forehead in the guise of checking for a fever, then eased him back down to the mattress. Dean stretched out lazily and sank into his pillow contentedly. John watched over him for a few minutes, then slid quietly off the bed, draped the blanket gently over Dean, and tiptoed out of the room. Food could wait another hour or two.

TBC

Please review! I apologize if this chapter sounded a lot like _Good Will Hunting_, but it was actually based on a real experience so please don't hold it against me! I promise the next, and last, chapter will be happier and end with some brotherly banter and hopefully all the loose ends will be tied up nicely for you guys!


	32. Repairing the Damage

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way! The original story idea belongs to Lia Walker.

Summary: Sam and Dean find an unexpected hunt involving a crazy Victorian spirit and her old-fashioned remedies. Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Adult Content. Sam!hurt, Dean!hurt/comfort, John!drunk/abusive, but not for long.

"He alright?" Bobby asked anxiously as John walked back into the kitchen alone.

"Yeah. He's sleepin'."

"Thought you went in there to wake him up?" Bobby was just putting the saucepan full of soup onto the stovetop. Luckily, he hadn't turned the burner on yet.

"He was havin' a nightmare."

"Oh?"

"'bout me goin' after him."

"Shit."

"So we talked it out and he fell asleep in my arms."

"Gettin' sentimental on me, John. 'bout damn time too."

"I'll give him two more hours. Then he's gonna _have_ to eat somethin'."

"Agreed."

Sam slipped through the kitchen doorway, listening to the two men converse. "You… You didn't hurt him, did you?" he asked his father in a timid voice.

John sighed. "No, Sammy. I told you I'd never hurt either of you boys again and I'm gonna stick to it this time."

"I didn't mean physically, dad. Is he okay?"

John paused, considering the question. "He will be, kiddo. Did _you_ eat anythin' yet?"

"No, sir."

"Want a sandwich?" Bobby chimed in.

Sam's growling stomach answered the question for him and Bobby laughed.

"Guess so. Take a seat, son." Bobby set to work raiding the fridge just to give himself something to do while they waited. Five minutes later, the three of them were sitting at the table in silence. The only sound was an occasional crunch from Sam.

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John waited two hours like he promised, then stood up from the table once again, unsure of what to expect from Dean this time around. "Bobby, you mind gettin' the soup ready now? I'm gonna go wake him up."

"You sure about that this time?" Bobby grumbled, debating whether this was going to be another false alarm or not.

"Yeah, I'm sure. He can go back to bed afterwards if he's still tired, but he needs to eat somethin'."

"Consider it done." Bobby rose to his feet and worked the kinks out of his back. _I'm gettin' too old for this shit. _He strode to the oven and turned the burner on.

"Can _I_ get him, dad?" Sam asked hopefully.

Bobby paused at the oven, waiting to hear his friend's response.

John glanced from his son to Bobby, then to the hallway where his eldest was resting, then back to Sam again. "Go for it. But if he's havin' a nightmare, don't go anywhere near him, got it? You come get me instead."

"Yes, sir."

"Alright."

Sam grinned then took off for his brother's room.

John caught Bobby staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face him. "What?"

"Nothin'." Bobby smirked and went back to overseeing the soup.

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Sam knocked softly on the bedroom door before cracking it open. "Dean? You awake, big brother?"

Dean grumbled something resembling "Buzz off, Squirt," then tried to pull the covers over his head. He was exhausted still. Why wouldn't everyone just let him sleep for a while, uninterrupted?

"Dean, dad wants you to eat somethin'."

"Mhm…" he mumbled back, not really paying attention to his brother's words.

Sam pulled the sheets down to his brother's waist and flipped on the lamp next to the bed. "Come on, dude. Wake up."

Dean's eyes squinched shut against the bright light as it pulsed through his skull. He groped around for the sheets to pull them back up, but his brother batted his hand away.

"Wha'da ya want, S'm?"

"Just wanted to check on you."

"'m fine. Just tired."

"Dad wants you to wake up."

"Wha' for?"

"You gotta eat somethin', dude. Bobby's makin' you soup."

"Not hungry, Sam." Dean was waking up more and more and he wasn't very happy about it. "Jus' lemme 'lone."

"Sorry, can't do that. Come on, Dean. Open your eyes."

"Shut the damn light off first."

"Your eyes will adjust."

"Don't want to."

"You should probably have the doc check your bandages. Dad says you were dreamin' earlier, so you might've pulled a few stitches."

"'m good, dude." He was fully awake now and not overly thrilled with the idea his father told everyone he was having nightmares- particularly Sammy. Why couldn't they all just mind their own business and let him heal and deal in peace? He groaned.

"Dean? Did the pain pills wear off? You need anything?"

Dean sat up and turned to face his brother, annoyed. "Yeah, for you guys to back off. I'm _fine_ for the last time! Stop mother hennin' me, creep."

Sam hung his head, looking like a kicked puppy. "Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'll just wait outside…" He stood and began making his way back towards the door, looking dejected.

Dean sighed. He never was able to resist the puppy face. "Come here, dude."

Sam turned back and stared at him warily. "What for?"

"Cause I haven't gotten to draw crude pictures on your new cast yet. It's tradition." Dean smirked and it was the best thing Sam had seen in a long time. He smiled back, then went to Dean's duffle and pulled out a few markers he knew were stashed in a side pocket. He made his way back to the bed.

"Don't make it too bad. I think dad wants to swing by the pastor's place when you're ready."

"Oh really…?" Dean's smirk widened to an evil grin.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I shouldn't have told you that…"

"Have a seat, little man, while I work my magic."

Sam did as he was told and faked reluctance as he handed over the markers. Dean looked up and made eye contact with his little brother.

"I really am okay, Sammy."

"I know, Dean. You always are."

About five minutes later, John came into the room followed closely by Bobby who was carrying a bowl of steaming soup.

"Thought you came in to get Dean, Sam," John chuckled. "Not as easy as it looks, huh?"

Dean had managed to cover more than half of Sam's cast in risqué drawings and crude sayings. "Sorry, dad. Had some unfinished business to attend to first."

"I can see that…" John caught a glimpse of the pictures Dean was working so hard on and they were enough to make even _him _blush. He decided to change the topic immediately at Dean's devilish smirk. "You've gotta eat somethin', dude. Try to down some of Bobby's soup for me."

Dean turned a little green at the thought of food after going so long without. Bobby scowled. "My cookin' ain't _that _bad, kid."

"No, that's not what…"

"I'll have you know I've perfected the art of soup cooking. Beats your dad's feeble attempts at makin' food… If you can even call it food…"

"Hey! Standin' right here, Bobby."

Dean knew the two men could bicker like the best of them. There was only one way to get them to stop; submit. "Oh, for cryin' out loud… Just hand it over."

Everyone in the room laughed as Dean gave in and once he was sitting up against the headboard, Bobby placed the bowl in the boy's lap.

"Ah, shit! That's hot!" Dean lifted it immediately.

"Well I didn't cook it on my stomach, boy!"

Sam found a hoodie in Dean's bag and placed it under the bowl. "There! Better?"

"Loads. Thanks, kiddo. You always _were_ the brains in the family. Well, right behind me of course…"

Sam beamed.

"Gets his intelligence from his uncle," Bobby informed everyone and Dean burst out laughing at his father's indignant expression. It felt damn good to laugh again and apparently it was contagious. Dean's laughter was the cure to the gloom that had settled over the family for the past few days and it was certainly a welcomed reprieve.

The next few days passed rather pleasantly as they all took turns nursing Dean back to health, much to the boy's disgruntle. After a few medical checks from Brian, which were supervised by John, Dean eventually felt comfortable around the man again and told his father he didn't have to stay in the room with them anymore. Brian was thrilled that he could now approach Dean without the boy flinching away from him in barely controlled fear.

On the fourth day, Brian was able to remove all the bandages and they had a mini celebration. Bobby even went to the local store to buy a small cake for the occasion.

Brian was completely shell-shocked when he went upstairs to find a lighter for the candles and his father cracked his bedroom door open.

"Brian?"

"Dad? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just… You did good by that kid downstairs. Just wanted you to know that."

"I… Thanks, dad."

"Mhm." The man slid back into the darkness of his room and closed the door, leaving a beaming son to continue his quest for candles.

Refusing to waste any time, Dean was busted working out that very same night by the medic and Brian told him he was allowed to do so, but only if he promised to work out under supervision so he didn't injure himself again. Dean reluctantly agreed, anxious to reach the point where he wouldn't be babied anymore. He supposed he should have just been grateful that he was allowed to eat solid food again.

Two more days, and John felt they had overstayed their welcome and Dean was finally well enough to hit the road.

He found his sons sitting on the couch watching TV.

"Sorry boys, but it's not lookin' like you can stick around to finish the last few days of this semester."

Before everything that had happened, Sam would have been pissed. Now? He was relieved as hell. The sooner they left this damned town, the better.

It'd be a whole new start for all of them. John was going to give up drinking and stop abusing Dean, Dean wouldn't have to keep hiding scars from Sam, and Sam would never complain about target practice again. Or at least… not for a while.

John and Bobby loaded the bags into their vehicles, leaving the boys to do last minute checks to make sure they didn't leave anything behind. Bobby had taken John back to the motel a few days ago to pick up the Impala once Dean was on the mend.

Brian restocked his own medical kit but didn't have any bags to worry about. He was going to hitch a ride back to his place with Bobby since they had all driven to his dad's house together.

Everyone, except Brian's father who watched defiantly from the doorway, met up outside on the lawn to say their goodbyes.

Brian shook John's hand. "Well, I guess I should head to the hospital to report my stolen ambulance. Man… Rafe is never gonna believe what happened. You guys take care, and if you're ever in this area again, feel free to look me up."

"I'm sure we will. Thanks for lookin' out for my boys, Brian. Most people would have called the cops on us instead of helpin'."

"My pleasure. I'm glad you guys were able to work things out."

"Yeah. Me too."

Brian hugged the boys and made sure Dean still had his business card so he could contact him if he ever needed him in the future. Lastly, he turned towards the doorway.

Brian didn't know what had gotten into his old man, but he seemed a bit more accepting of his son lately. The man had kept to himself for the majority of their stay, but when he did poke his head out of his room, he seemed genuinely concerned about both Dean's and his own son's well-being. Brian wouldn't say they were buddy-buddy just yet, but things were definitely looking up in their relationship. Whatever the cause for this change in his father's personality, he wasn't going to question it. "Bye, dad, and thanks for letting us stay so long. I hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience."

John cleared his throat loudly and stared pointedly at the old man who huffed childishly and rolled his eyes, though the annoyance was clearly more for show than a true expression of his feelings. "Wait. Stay for lunch, Brian. I'd ah… I'd like to hear what you've been doin' with your life lately if you've got some time to spare."

Brian blinked in pleasant surprise. "I've got time, dad." A smile lit up his face.

The man looked relieved for a second, then schooled his features into an aggravated expression. "Get back inside then. You're lettin' out all the heat."

Brian laughed. "Yes, sir." He turned back to Bobby. "Looks like I'll be catchin' a cab later. Thanks for the offer though. You guys drive safely, and take care of each other." He shook Bobby's hand, then waved to the small group before following his father back inside.

"Time to go, boys," John stated gently, knowing that splitting up with Bobby was going to be the hardest goodbye yet. He clapped the older man on the shoulder. "Take it easy, Bobby. I'm sure we'll be seein' you soon."

"Oh joy…" he grumbled good-naturedly. "You best be stickin' to that promise of yours, John, or I'm gonna track you down and shoot you myself."

"Thanks for the warning."

"You kids take care of your old man for me, will ya?"

Sam stepped forward first, throwing his arms around Bobby in a tight hug. Bobby returned it whole-heartedly, ruffling the boy's mop of hair.

"Be good, kiddo."

"I will, Uncle Bobby."

"Let's go, Sammy," John called as he headed for the car. He wanted to give Dean a chance to say goodbye to Bobby in private. Sam jogged over to the Impala and slid into the back seat.

Bobby and Dean watched him until he was out of sight, then they turned back to each other.

"Hey, Bobby… Thanks, for… you know…"

"You're welcome, son. And like I said, _anythin'_ like that ever happens again, you call me, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alright then. Take care of yourself, kid." He drew Dean into his arms and the boy hugged back tightly.

"You too, Bobby."

He patted Dean on the back, now that the wounds were mostly healed. "Better catch up or John might leave you behind." He winked at Dean and gave him a gentle nudge towards the car.

"See you around."

Bobby had to laugh at the fact that Dean's words sounded more like a threat than a promise.

"I'm gonna hold you to it. Maybe I'll see you boys at Pastor Jim's. Just make sure your brother wears long sleeves there or that cast of his will give the poor man a heart attack."

Dean smirked, then made his way to the car as Bobby climbed up into his truck and started the engine. Dean smoothed his hand over the trunk and side of the Impala.

"I missed you, baby." He kept the contact with the pitch black paint until he reached the passenger door and slid into the familiar seat, finally feeling like he was home. He settled in with a sigh of content.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean looked over at his dad.

"You're still on the mend now so I don't want you drivin' for the next few days, but when you're up for it… She's yours."

Dean sat up straighter, his mouth falling open in shock. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I think it's time I invested in a truck for myself. Bobby's ride is pretty sweet." He didn't mention the fact that he was planning on slowly distancing himself from the boys to keep them safe. In due time. Right now, he was solely focused on repairing the damage that had already been done and bringing his family back together again.

"Thanks, dad."

"You've earned it."

He waited for Bobby to pull out of the driveway before following suit. Bobby went right, and John went left. On to the next state and the next hunt. On to a better future if fate allowed. He reached over and turned the radio on. The familiar beat of AC/DC's Highway to Hell blasted through the speakers. All three Winchesters smiled contentedly. This was exactly how things were _supposed_ to be.

THE END

Please review! Almost reached 600! I hope the ending didn't seem rushed, but I didn't want to drag out Dean's recovery too much. Thank you all soooo much for sticking with me this far and for all the amazing reviews! You guys are awesome! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! Be safe out there tonight!


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